Grit
by mellowenglishgal
Summary: Rhett, a Necromancer, has no memories before she woke in the French Quarter of New Orleans nearly 25 yrs ago, has a wickedly violent streak and is the most sought after mercenery but is incurably lonely...enter Kenzi.
1. Prologue 01

**A.N.**: Just got into _Lost __Girl_ last week, and the idea of Rhett kind of developed from memories of reading _The __Summoning_ with a necromancer, and reading a _lot_ of Immortals After Dark by Kresley Cole. I originally liked Bo, but the more I watch the episodes the more I find her a self-absorbed, selfish bitch. Kenzi, however, is a goddess! With characters like Bo, I think there has to be someone who will actually put her in her place, rather than do what everyone in the _Lost __Girl_ series seems to do and think she's unstoppable and flawless. She's frantic, and overemotional, but that's just my opinion!

So, I give you _LaRhette_. Storylines heavily influenced by _Supernatural_ and _Criminal_ _Minds_, and what with the combination of crime and supernatural baddies, they are two excellent references!

This chapter (and the next two) is set about a year before Kenzi meets Bo.

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><p><strong>Grit<strong>

_01_

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><p>"I'll be goddamned." She turned the newspaper around and sighed, shaking her head even as a tiny smile lifted the corners of her beautiful lips. The newspaper article read, "<em>Double<em> _Homicide_ _Baffles_ _Authorities_: _Throats_ _Slit_, _Alarms_ _Still_ _Active_". Reading over the article, Rhett pulled her tired brown-leather journal toward her, thumbing through the heavily-scribbled and almost frail pages, filled with newspaper clippings, strange symbols, frayed, torn paper, and a few glossy photographs, stapled business-cards and glued pages torn from ancient library texts. One page in particular featured only black Biro notes, specific dates and details on four families, a page Rhett had never paid much attention to before because she hadn't written it, and unlike the other pages handed down to her this one imparted no information on specific fey. It was a list of names, and the dates of their murders. The M.O. of their murders matched exactly to the description of the Greggs' murders in the newspaper.

She had come up north for a job, had completed it and rested last night, and was eating lunch in a very nice duck-egg blue and white-countered diner. A new photograph was added to the collection in a fat, very old and worn white envelope held in the front flap of the ring-journal, another face she would remember for saving them. The kidnapping trail had led her to a horde of bear Ghala, though they hadn't taken the girl themselves, merely holding her for an ill-tempered and very wealthy business associate of the girl's parents, using their distraction over their daughter to force through business deals they had withdrawn from.

It was fortune or fate that she hadn't left town last night, that she could connect the M.O. to at least four murders in the last century, all in the area, all unsolved and mysterious.

Rhett finished up her lunch, wiped her mouth on a napkin, paid and left a generous tip, exited the diner, and let herself dissolve.

The world wasn't one-dimensional as humans believed. Since she was a little girl, Rhett had possessed the ability to walk between the planes, between life and death. Smiling faces greeted her as she entered this plane; it looked no different to the human one, just had more people in it. A little boy ran across the pedestrian crosswalk, blood splattering everywhere as an invisible car hit him; a chubby man was knifed in the gut as a drug-deal went bad; in an alley, a pretty prostitute was shot to death after laughing at her john.

Some of the ghosts turned to look at her, eyes lighting up eagerly; she always attracted attention entering this realm, because she alone could enter it at will, walking amongst the dead, the souls of the living vibrant and colourful, like an internal fire that burned different hues as each emotion flared, thousands of threads winding, unseen by any but her. The auras were far stronger in this realm than in the other, though everything to her eyes was still as clear as crystal. She saw ghosts as clearly as she saw the living, even in the realm of the living, and as a child and young teenager, this had caused many of those on the street to avoid her, thinking her madder than they. Her friends had been ghosts, her guardians and her teachers, her beloveds, her suppliants. They came to her for help, and aided her in turn.

In the spirit realm, Rhett could travel hundreds of miles with no more than a thought, leaving no trace, no puff of smoke or crackle of sparkling light. She was silent and untraceable as a spectre was to any other but a Necromancer. It made her invaluable as a mercenary, too good at her job for either side to let the other claim her.

Rhett didn't care to choose either side. Light or Dark; in her experience nothing was ever so cut and dry. Nobody was ever entirely evil or purely good. A mercenary of her calibre saw the very best of the world, and the very worst, and escorted the souls of Dark fey that had led purer lives than those of Light elders. In the end, it didn't matter, Light and Dark. Those rules didn't apply to the dead. Restricted in life to territory, the ghosts of the fey were free in death to move where they wished, if they remained. Most didn't. If Rhett was called, she gave them the choice, a peek into what came beyond, if they so chose, or the choice to remain, unseen, watchful. Some she promised to watch over their descendents when she escorted them to the plain little arched door.

There were no ghosts in the Gregg home. Surprising, given the violent nature of the couple's deaths. More than that, there was nothing _in_ the house. It was new, even by American standards, spacious and would have been warm if the place hadn't been stripped of every amenity. Sighing softly, Rhett appeared in the realm of the living, her brown-leather heeled ankle-boots touching softly onto the cream carpet. Someone had completely stripped the entire house. The only thing that remained was a few splotches of dried blood on the carpet in the master bedroom.

Rhett stilled. She had heard someone talking. Disappearing, she searched the property and honed in on two figures outside the back door leading into the garage. It was a girl, black-haired with very pale green eyes, her tongue sticking out as she picked the lock on the door. She was very slender, dressed in Goth garb, and Rhett had to admit she was both very talented with picking locks and with choosing her outfits. She was also grumbling to herself. Rhett recognised Russia, though she wasn't near fluent in it yet. The girl was griping to herself about being able to pick deadbolts, but her fingers were frozen. She wore an empty rucksack on her back, and, scanning her thoughts, Rhett smiled to herself sadly. This girl was as much a street urchin as she was, though Rhett was several years older and had earned her way off the streets of the French Quarter; this human had read about the murder in the paper and was dead set on raiding the house of valuables to pawn. Rhett was far from sympathising with much; she had led a primarily isolated lifestyle since she was thirteen, and before that had been regarded as a freak who saw things nobody else did and liked sticking her finger in live electrical sockets, always knew what people were thinking and was mesmerised by lightning.

Purely by accident, Rhett had pulled herself off the streets. If she hadn't stumbled across that shifter and accidentally killed him, protecting herself out of pure animalistic instinct, she would never have gained that bounty, guided by the ghost of the fey girl the shifter had killed to her parents, who had put a price on his head. If Rhett hadn't killed that shifter, she would never have had the opportunity to change her life. Over the last nineteen years she had honed herself into a skilled mercenary and assassin, her services for sale only to those who needed the most delicate treatment of their business, and would pay her very handsomely for it.

If she wasn't on a job, things like this, they filled up her otherwise empty datebook.

The girl broke into the garage, peering around the yard before sneaking into the garage, through to the house.

"What the…?" Rhett could sense her bafflement as easily as she could read the girl's thoughts; she had come not more than three hours ago and taken a bagful of trinkets to fence. In three hours, the entire place had been stripped clean, besides the blood.

Rhett wasn't nearly as curious about the murders now as she was about this girl's spirit. Rhett saw each being's spirit as a soft glow, more distinguished in the spirit realm, but even by the standards she was used to, viewing live spirits from the spirit realm, this girl's burned like the sun. Rhett was an expert in recognising a person's true character. To a Necromancer everything was laid out bare, every grace and flaw; this girl was incorruptible and fearless, though she was no angel.

Inside the house, Kenzi's jaw dropped in disbelief, thoughts of the _Agent_ _Provocateur_ corset she had seen on sale flying out the window now that she had nothing to pawn to pay for it. Her thoughts went to theft, and Rhett's boots once again touched the carpet.

"Cleared it out completely, didn't they," she said softly, and Kenzi gasped and whirled around, almost tripping over her own feet as she tried to judo-chop the air with her fingerless-gloved hands. Rhett could hear her blood pounding through her veins, a messy jumble of terror-stricken thoughts displaced by a calm resolve, knuckle-dusters flashing on her right hand, adopting a fighter's stance even in buckled platform-boots.

Rhett didn't often find herself relating to living beings, particularly humans, but this fiery little underfed urchin of a human girl had a spirit that felt…kindred. They had both been taught not to fear bedtime monsters, though Rhett didn't know how she had known that as a little girl. And they had both let the streets raise them.

"Who are you?" she demanded breathlessly. Rhett listened, focusing, as Kenzi mentally sized her up. It was always interesting to hear her opponents' first impressions of her. A v-neck dove-grey long-sleeved t-shirt, two gold pendants, a beige trench-coat with cream cashmere lining and cuffs, beautifully-fitted _7 __For __All __Mankind_ jeans and handmade heeled brown-leather ankle-boots peeking out from the hems, Kenzi believed Rhett was a rich neighbour to the murdered couple she had read about in the papers.

"I'm looking into the murder of the couple who lived here," Rhett said quietly. Kenzi's eyes widened.

"You're a cop?"

"No," Rhett said slowly, smiling. Rhett had hauled herself out of life on the streets, and this kindred street-hustler had tried many times to improve her status, but had little luck. She survived, though, and was fearless and emotionally very strong. She was _good_, if not an angel. Rhett made a snap decision, something she never did. "I need to examine the belongings taken from this house. If you help me find what I need, I'll let you have your pick of the rest."

"You're not gonna narc on me, are you?" Kenzi asked, narrowing her eyes. Rhett gave her an amused look.

"I generally avoid authority figures as a rule," she admitted quietly, "especially human ones." Kenzi gave her a strange look.

"Are you for real? I help you out, I get what I wanted from this place? How do you know where all their shit is?"

"I don't," Rhett said. "But I will. And you look like you could use the money you'll get pawning their belongings."

"What makes you say that?" Kenzi asked.

"You're starving," Rhett said, and Kenzi's eyes widened a little again, but a second later it wasn't at Rhett she was staring. A noise echoed from downstairs, the front-door opening and letting in the voices of two men.

"…_need __to __come __back __here? __Probably __cut-and-dry __murder-suicide_."

"_There __was __no __murder-weapon, __Hale. __This __is __the __second __time __this __M.O. __has __cropped __up_."

"Shit!" Kenzi hissed softly. Rhett placed a finger to her lips and reached out, lightly touching her arm, leading her upstairs through the back staircase, and, though Kenzi didn't know it, through the spirit realm. It was easy for her, a Necromancer, to manipulate spirits through the planes, had travelled with others through the spirit realm before, and it was easier walking through it from place to place than tracing.

"Are they with you?" Kenzi breathed, as they trod lightly upstairs. Rhett shook her head, her eyes scanning, not the walls in front, but through the ceiling. She could see spirits through anything, and these two burned familiarly. Fey. One was older, more resilient and hard than the other, though his heart was huge, and strong; the other was a little more joyful, though nearly as ancient.

"They're coming upstairs," she murmured, keeping up the pretence to Kenzi that they were still in the same plane of existence as the two fey males. Curious, she pointed to the closet, and no sooner had she drawn the slatted closet doors shut using her special brand of telekinesis than the door to the master bedroom was opened again.

"…the hell gave them permission to empty our crime-scene?" The voice belonged to the younger of the two males, a voice mellifluous and entrancing, but annoyed; he was a very attractive male who looked to be in his early thirties, chocolate-skinned with high-cheekbones and perfect teeth, wearing a leather fedora and a police badge draped around his neck under a heavy coat. His companion was taller, fairer, with curly Demerara-blonde hair, lovely bone-structure and warm, calm eyes that belied a volatile temper. He wore a gun in a shoulder-holster, his badge clipped to his belt, his thick wool coat beautifully tailored.

Fey masquerading as law-enforcement. What little she knew of the area, Rhett knew this territory was claimed by the Light fey. She disliked scanning minds of everyone she met.

"Why don't you ask the neighbours what they saw?" the fairer one said. Rhett licked her lips and swallowed, her stomach doing something funny that she hadn't experienced in nearly a decade. His voice was deep and warm, gentle but again, concealed a simmering temper. If his head wasn't bare to his curling blonde hair, Rhett might have said rage-demon, though they usually wore hats to conceal their lovely shell-coloured horns from human notice.

"You got something?" the darker fey asked, and Kenzi shivered as the fairer man inhaled deeply, frowning as he moved slowly toward the closet.

"I'm not sure. Something I picked up downstairs… There are two newer scents, on top of the removal team. These two are female, but I don't know whether they're both human or one's fey."

"What do you mean, you're not sure?" the dark fey asked. "When is a wolf's nose ever wrong?"

"The second scent is so faint, so…strange," the blonde fey said, frowning. "I barely caught it."

"You think maybe they're a team, revisiting the site of the murder?" the dark fey asked.

"A fey and a human working together?" Rhett squeezed Kenzi's arm reassuringly, and as the blonde fey threw open the closet doors, Kenzi jumped and gasped, gazing wide-eyed and guilty at the fey.

"They really did wipe the place out," the dark-skinned fey said. "You got anything?" The blonde fey closed his eyes, inhaling deeply again, and Rhett's certainty of his species strengthened.

"The strange scent again, it's barely there," he said, turning away from Rhett and Kenzi. "It's elusive, I can't…" He inhaled again.

"What is it?" the other fey asked.

"It's like…the memory of a scent, not the scent itself."

"This case just keeps getting weirder," the dark fey sighed. "This is definitely a fey job."

"I didn't get this scent when we first looked around. It's…" The blonde shifter inhaled deeply again, and this time Rhett allowed herself to delve into his mind.

Dyson couldn't tell whether he was going mad or not. He had scented out the four sweaty, coffee-chugging removal-men with incredible ease; the scent lingered in this master bedroom, too, but it wasn't that which made his nose twitch. The human scent had been easy to trace to the garage-door, where the lock had been picked; she smelled like hair-product, grated parmesan and the _street_, a distinctive scent. But it disappeared in the room that had contained the grand-piano and bookcases, where he had caught a tiny crackle of that elusive scent that made his cock twitch every time he managed to find it again.

It was sweet and oddly murky, rich and moist, bringing up memories of sultry lightning storms and candles flickering under mosquito-nets, sipping rum, the heat pressing against his bare skin like the caress of a lover, the sound of crickets and something saccharine and tart, which made his mouth water as much as the scent made his knees weak and his cock throb achingly. But just like a memory, the scent was gone before it fully latched onto him, a flash of lightning in a sticky sky that left imprints of everything else in its wake, tantalising but ethereal.

_And __Hale__'__s __the __siren_, he thought, scanning the room once more. The blood had left the scents of the two human victims, and he had caught that other scent inside the closet, but it was completely bare. If the two females he had picked up on had been here once, they were gone now, and for all Hale's hypotheses, he couldn't pin this kind of kill on any kind of local fey. Nothing had been missing from the bodies at all, not even a kidney, and their blood hadn't been drained or collected in a sink, but left to pool around the bodies. This was the second murder like this in the last two weeks, both with the same M.O., but they couldn't find any connections between the victims other than that they both gave generously to charities and were avid art-lovers.

"Anything?" he asked, as Hale returned, retrieving a little notepad from his inside coat-pocket.

"Two hours ago, removal vans arrived, taking all the Greggs' possessions to Carlyle Auction House," Hale said. "Called the auction house, they're holding an estate sale today." Dyson shook his head, disbelieving.

"Humans," he said. "Vultures."

"Think someone's covering their tracks?" Hale asked. Dyson shrugged.

"If this is fey, we'll have to ask around."

"If it's Dark fey?"

"They're trespassing on Light territory. They'll have to deal with the Morrigan and the Ash. This is sloppy. The autopsy reports say _nothing_ was missing. The alarms were set, nothing obvious was missing from their possessions, neither of the victims were into anything that would precipitate this kind of attack."

"Could be human. Someone who knew them."

"Andrew Gregg was an entertainment lawyer. His wife Andrea was an amateur party-planner. They didn't have enemies."

"Why clean the house out so quickly?" Hale asked.

"There was a lot of expensive furniture and artwork," Dyson said. "Auction houses take a commission from every item they sell, don't they?"

"Wanna go antiquing?"

"We're older than this country's history."

"And still look so gorgeous." Dyson laughed, rolling his eyes, and he and Hale made their way back out of the house.

Rhett heard the door click shut behind the siren Hale and let go of Kenzi's arm.

"Okay, what the hell just happened?" Kenzi blurted, eyes wide. "How come that yummy cop dude didn't see us? He blind or something?"

"He couldn't see us," Rhett said, creeping over to the window overlooking the front yard. A neat silver car was parked out front, unmarked but bearing a black box tucked at the top of the rear-window. The fair-haired shifter leaned nearer to his window as he gazed at the house, and for a second his eyes lit on Rhett. In a heartbeat, she was invisible to him—but also to Kenzi, whom she had briefly forgotten was still in the master bedroom.

"What the hell—!" Kenzi blurted, her knuckle-dusters back in place, this time her other fist curled around a switchblade. "Okay, woman, what the hell are you?"

"It's hard to explain," Rhett said honestly.

"Yeah? Try me. What the hell were those guys talking about, fey and Light and Dark?" Kenzi demanded. "I'm not stupid."

"No, you're not," Rhett said quietly, gaze sweeping over this skinny little human with the ferocity and emotional strength of a bear.

"Why were you avoiding those guys? Did you—did _you_ kill these people who lived here?" Kenzi gasped. "Oh my god, oh my god, are you gonna kill me?"

"No, I'm not going to kill you," Rhett said quietly. "And no, I did not kill the people who lived here."

"Then who did?" Kenzi demanded. Rhett swept her eyes over the girl again. Her stepfather had taught her to fear humans more than the bogeyman. The only thing this girl seemed genuinely afraid of was Baba Yaga.

"What."

"What?"

"It's not a who, it's a what," Rhett said carefully, and Kenzi's dark eyebrows rose bemusedly. "Something the Greggs possessed was cursed, haunted."

"You're insane!" Kenzi blurted, laughing. "There's no such thing as ghosts."

"Let me show you?" Rhett said, offering her hand.

"Show me what?"

"What I can do," Rhett smiled softly. "I won't hurt you, on my blood honour."

"Okay," Kenzi said, giving her a weird look, but she took Rhett's hand anyway, because she was genuinely curious, both about how those cops hadn't been able to see them, what they had been talking about, the Light and Dark fey, and how Rhett had been able to completely disappear one second and reappear the next. Rhett thought of the Carlyle Auction House, and Kenzi's knees almost buckled beneath her as the effects of tracing took on her.

"You could've warned me you were gonna…" Kenzi said, staring around, and she turned to stare at Rhett. "Oh my _God_! What did you _do_? How did you do that?" The mournful classical music playing from a little podium in which musicians played sombrely drew Kenzi's attention, realising she had been shouting out in the middle of an auction-house crowded with antiques, expensive furniture, and very wealthy potential bidders. Jumping about when she noticed people milling around, she tripped over her own feet and fell through an older man accompanying his wife.

"No such thing as ghosts?" Rhett smiled, hands tucked in the pockets of her jeans. She unhooked one and offered it to Kenzi, who looked like she was in some sort of shock as Rhett hauled her off the floor. Kenzi stared at Rhett, then turned to tentatively push her hand against the man's back. It went straight through; the human male shivered subconsciously, but otherwise made no reaction. Kenzi turned to gape at Rhett.

"What did you _do_ to me?" she asked, a little horrified but mostly believing herself to be dreaming.

"You're not dreaming," Rhett said, smiling subtly. "This is the plane between life and the afterlife. It's the ghost plane, where necromancers can wander freely across the worlds."

"Am _I_ a ghost?"

"No. You entered this plane with me," Rhett said. "I can take humans or fey in and out of the ghost plane, travelling great distances in a heartbeat."

"Okay," Kenzi said, sounding a little pained.

"I'll show you something," Rhett said softly, smiling, and she approached a surgically-enhanced cougar dripping with jewellery. "These are real diamonds. _Tiffany__'__s_, by the look of them. I know my knockoffs too." Kenzi glanced at Rhett, eyes wide, wondering how Rhett knew Kenzi had recognised Rhett's watch as genuine. Rhett smiled, indicating Kenzi should watch the woman's necklace, focusing her telekinetic energy, and Kenzi gasped as the clasp of the necklace the woman wore undid itself, the movement of the sinuous chain barely registered by the human female until her jewellery rested, unseen, in Rhett's palm.

"Score," Kenzi grinned. "Hey, did you steal your watch that way?"

"My watch I bought," Rhett said, smiling subtly.

"But you know how to do that too well not to have done it a lot before," Kenzi said sagely, and Rhett smiled sadly.

"Let's just say I have experience stealing to survive," she said softly, and Kenzi nodded slowly.

"Okay, clearly I was wrong about you," she said, shrugging as she stuffed her hands in her pockets. "You're not from money at all, are you."

"I'm from the French Quarter in New Orleans," Rhett said, the first time she had ever told anybody that, though her accent tended to give people the impression she had lived in Louisiana at some point in the past, even if she misdirected people about where she lived now. Kenzi nodded, looking a little impressed.

"So, what is this, Pickpockets Unite?" she joked, and Rhett smiled.

"Something like that," she said softly. "Help me look around?"

"What are we looking for?"

"Cursed objects. Sometimes ghosts can be bound to their old possessions, especially if they had particular meaning to them while living," Rhett said.

"So we're looking for a murderous carriage-clock?" Kenzi said dubiously. Rhett shrugged slightly, and she started wandering around, Kenzi pausing every other person to narrow her eyes and stick out her tongue, trying to do Rhett's telekinetic theft trick.

"Focus," Rhett said, watching her out of the corner of her eye as she scanned the auction-house. "Use your mind."

"Kind of a Jean Grey deal?" Kenzi grunted softly, and Rhett smiled to herself as she wandered around the room. She had told Kenzi the truth; it had been years since she had been forced to steal for her own survival, though retrieving stolen or desired items was in itself an inherent part of her mercenary work. Only, she didn't keep the items she retrieved. She was paid to give them away, and she was paid a _lot_ to do so.

"I am so cleaning this place out," Kenzi murmured, catching a diamond-encrusted watch as it fell from a woman's slender wrist as she peeked into the woman's designer handbag.

"Want me to fence your stolen goods for you?" Rhett smiled. "I can find you just the right buyer for these things." She indicated the antiques and expensive trinkets cluttering the auction-house.

"This is a partnership made in heaven," Kenzi said, grinning at Rhett. She scoffed. "Estate auction! Yard-sale for the rich and douchey if you ask me." Rhett smiled at Kenzi's tone. "Hey, er… What's your name?" Rhett glanced at Kenzi, licking her lips as she looked away, fiddling telekinetically with a diamond-encrusted enamel snuffbox.

Rhett had woken one day in the French Quarter of New Orleans, with the physicality of an eight-year-old, filled with knowledge, but with no idea of how she knew what she did, where she was from, or even who she was. Her _name_ had come from one of the novels she had read the first night she slept in a closed library. It had become embellished on the streets, a title more than a name.

"LaRhette," she said quietly.

"That's pretty," Kenzi said. "I'm Kenzi."

"You can call me Rhett," she replied, glancing at the young girl.

"Hey, uh…Rhett?"

"Mm?"

"If I was a ghost giving out Columbian neckties, you reckon I'd want to live in that creepy-ass painting?" Kenzi asked, and Rhett walked over to where Kenzi grimacing at a gilt-framed portrait. Dark, rather macabre, the costumes of the subjects were Edwardian, and Rhett shuddered and quickly glanced at another aspect of the painting when she noticed the little girl carrying a porcelain doll.

"_Definitely_," she said, taking in the open barber's razor on the side-table in the corner of the painting, putting the doll out of her mind before she shivered again. "I'll need to see the provenances."

"What's a providence?"

"A proven_ance_," Rhett corrected gently. "They're records of ownership for particular pieces of artwork."

"There's an office upstairs," Kenzi said, peering up the iron spiral staircase to the gallery. Rhett offered her hand to Kenzi, who raised her eyebrows but placed her palm on Rhett's. "Jeez!" Kenzi panted, her knees knocking together. "You gonna warn me the next time you do that?"

"You'll get used to it," Rhett smiled softly.

"Hey, look!" Kenzi said, panting slightly, as she leaned over the banister; Rhett tugged the back of her jacket before she could tumble through, and Kenzi gasped again, Rhett dragging her back from midair.

"What did you see?" Rhett asked, but she didn't need Kenzi to point out the two newcomers to the hall. The blonde, Dyson, flashed his badge covertly to a man in an expensive suit, and Rhett caught Kenzi's eye, indicating the office. Focusing, she drew Kenzi through the solid wall as if it was a mere hologram.

"Okay, that's totally cool," Kenzi laughed. "Hey, whisky! What're we looking for? Providences."

"Proven_ances_," Rhett smiled to herself as she pulled open polished wood filing-cabinets, scanning the tabs of manila folders until she found one labelled "Gregg". Kenzi made a noise like an angry cat and Rhett glanced over at her, watching Kenzi try to use telekinesis to pour herself a drink.

"Dude, I full-on Swayze'd that mother!" Kenzi laughed, clapping her hands, as the decanter settled itself back on the silver tray, a tumbler half-full with rich, aged whisky. Rhett smiled, shaking her head at the girl's exuberance, and focused on going through the stacks of paperwork associated with the Gregg estate while Kenzi went around the room packing everything that wasn't nailed down into her bag.

"Hm."

"What?" Kenzi asked, peering over Rhett's shoulder interestedly. "'_Portrait __of __Zebediah __Plumfeld__'__s __family, __painted __1910_.' That's the painting downstairs. So what?"

"First purchased in 1912, by Angelo Le Tissier," Rhett said quietly. She tugged her tattered brown-leather journal from inside her coat and opened it up to the appropriate page. Kenzi's eyebrow quirked at the page of strange symbols beside it, but Rhett scanned the neat little writing she knew well but wasn't her own. "Here, Angelo Le Tissier, murdered 1912." She checked the names on the provenance to the names in her journal. "The same thing in '46, '72 and '79. The painting was stored until it was donated to a charity auction last month, where the Greggs bought it."

"Bought it for a friggin' _extortionate_ amount of money," Kenzi said, gaping at the copy of the Greggs' invoice. "I thought I was a con-artist. Are you trying to tell me the painting is a ghost?"

"Most likely the painting is haunted by a ghost. Anything can _capture_ the spirit of a ghost," Rhett said. "Most ghosts wander free. But some are anchored to a specific place, somewhere with very strong emotional meaning to them when they were living; usually these ghosts led very violent lives or had extremely violent deaths. Some ghosts remain to continue their violent actions in life, but some remain to mete out vengeance, or to warn people, like omens. And some ghosts are connected to possessions that were once theirs. In years past, families of a recently deceased relative would put sheets over all of the mirrors so the spirit couldn't be trapped within them."

"How do you get rid of a ghost?" Kenzi asked curiously.

"Me personally? Or in general?" Rhett asked.

"Are there different ways?" Kenzi asked. "My aunt Ludmilla's a psychic, but it's all pretend. She performs séances, but she says they're just to tell people what they want to hear." Rhett nodded. Human "psychics" were always hoaxes.

"Well, I'm a Necromancer, so I can control spirits," Rhett said gently. "Ghosts sometimes try to avoid me, especially if they're one of the goal-oriented violent types, but it's very easy for me to catch them. For you, a human, the surest way to destroy a vengeful spirit is to salt and burn their remains."

"Remains?" Kenzi winced.

"Corpses. Or possessions. A painting, for example," Rhett said. "The ghost of Zebediah Plumfeld is probably bound to the painting."

"So…we burn the painting?"

"We burn the painting," Rhett nodded.

"Okay…how do we do—?" Rhett held up her hand, back straightening. The doorknob was moving. She used telekinesis to whip the provenances back into the filing-cabinet, but Kenzi dropped her tumbler; the amber liquid stained the carpet dark but the glass didn't shatter. In entered the two cops, following the auction-house owner. The fair one, Dyson, inhaled deeply as he entered the room, frowning, and Rhett's heartbeat quickened. Kenzi grimaced, wide-eyed, at Rhett, and she nodded, taking hold of Kenzi's hand.

"What do we do now?" Kenzi whispered.

"Keep a sharp eye," Rhett said, glancing around, and Kenzi watched out as she took hold of the painting. Taking hold of Kenzi's hand again, she traced them out into the concrete loading-dock behind the auction-house, which was deserted.

"Do you have a lighter on you?" Rhett asked.

"Uh, yeah," Kenzi said, raising her eyebrows as Rhett produced a cobalt vial of lighter-fluid and several sachets of salt from her coat pockets. She dug in her pockets while Rhett emptied the contents of the cobalt vial onto the painting, sprinkling it with salt, and Rhett took the fluorescent pink lighter Kenzi offered her, squatting down to light the fluid. The painting went up in flames instantly, and Kenzi let out a soft moan of delight as heat washed over them, warming the tips of Rhett's fingers and her nose. More than creating warmth, the fire destroyed the leftover remnants tied to the spirit that had been mutilating those humans. The spirit was destroyed, sent on, those two cops could rest easy that no more unexplainable murders would occur, and Kenzi would be able to pawn everything she had stolen. Rhett hoped she did something sensible with the money to get herself off the street.

"So what now?" Kenzi asked. It wasn't often Rhett spent more than an hour or so at a time with the same living being. Not since she was a little girl had she spent much time with anyone on a regular basis; her friends and allies were ghosts. Her clients were transient, though she had a few loyal clients who kept her on informal retainers, who most often gave her the most dangerous assignments for the highest payouts. She spent so much time alone that she had to remind herself of the unspoken rules of etiquette in conversation and relations with others.

"You're hungry," Rhett said finally. "How about some lunch?" Kenzi grinned.

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><p><strong>A.N.<strong>: Please review!


	2. Prologue 02

**A.N.**: Please review!

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><p><strong>Grit<strong>

_02_

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><p>"I mean, really, is there anything better than gooey, gooey cheese?"<p>

"Well, I like my pizza Creole-style," Rhett smiled, as she shook Tabasco sauce and chilli flakes onto her pizza loaded with red onion, celery, orange pepper slices, garlic, purple and green cherry tomatoes and grilled baby Creole shrimp and ham; dropping into Rhett's quiet, warm little motel room, Kenzi had asked whether Rhett liked pizza; Rhett had traced to her favourite New Orleans pizzeria and brought back a small feast.

"So…" Kenzi said, watching Rhett as she sipped her soda. "Are you gonna tell me what exactly the hell you are?" Rhett smiled as she wiped her fingers on a napkin.

"Well, I can't be entirely sure, but from some of my abilities, I'm descended from Necromancers," Rhett said honestly. Kenzi frowned. "Necromancers have the ability to walk between the realms of the living and the dead, and they can also control spirits. Sometimes I'm called to escort souls on."

"What do you mean, called?" Kenzi asked.

"I get this…feeling. I know where the souls are, and I know where they have to be escorted," Rhett said.

"Like heaven and hell?"

"Elysium, the Underworld, the afterlife," Rhett said, smiling without amusement. "Whatever you call them. I escort the souls of the dead wherever it is their place to go next."

"Man, so my mom's priest was right!" Kenzi grimaced. "But I thought necromancers were fairytales." Rhett smiled warmly. "Are you gonna tell me who those dudes were? Why'd that blonde one's eyes go all freaky when he came into that office?"

"Your parents told you fairytales at bedtime," Rhett said softly, and Kenzi nodded, though Rhett didn't need that confirmation. "For millennia, the fey have chosen to stay in hiding, living symbiotically with but separate from the human race." Kenzi gave her a perplexed look. "Necromancers, dwarves, mermaids, dragons, sirens…they're all real." Kenzi's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. "For a millennia, the fey have been divided between two factions, the Light and the Dark. In any given place on Earth, territory is divided between the two, and there are agents who work closely with humans to make sure none realise the existence of the fey."

"How many fey are there?"

"Well, fey is a general term, just like 'human'," Rhett explained, sipping her drink. "There are thousands of species of fey, some are what you'd call 'monsters', some are humanoid, some change forms, but each species has ritualistic ways of marking themselves. Tattoos, ritual scars. Piercings."

"Piercings," Kenzi's eye slight up interestedly, her eyebrows flying up as she beamed. She had a thing for boys with piercings.

"You'd love rage-demons," Rhett smiled. "Their rites of passage among males include very precise scarring and piercing rituals. Piercings in very strategic places if they know how to use them properly." Kenzi laughed, her pale face lighting up with warmth.

"Then hook me up, sista!" she said exuberantly. Rhett smiled as she chewed and swallowed.

"I can't. Humans are forbidden to rage-demons. The venom their fangs secrete during the mating ritual would kill you instantly," Rhett said.

"Forbidden fruit, huh," Kenzi grinned, undeterred. "I like that! So…those two cops. They were…_fey_? Are they necromancers too?"

"No," Rhett smiled. "Asking a particular fey their species is a very intimate question. Learning their species means learning their particular weaknesses."

"So…how many people have you told about your, uh…abilities?" Kenzi asked. For a moment, Rhett didn't respond, slowly chewing.

"You're actually the first living person I've had much contact with since I was about thirteen," she confessed, and Kenzi's eyes widened.

"What are you, some kind of hermit?" Kenzi asked. Rhett almost laughed aloud.

"When I was younger, my seeing ghosts caused a lot of people on the streets to think I was insane," she said, and Kenzi nodded understandingly. "But the ghosts I saw became my friends."

"That's kind of sad," Kenzi said softly. "So you ran away from home?"

"No, I grew up on the streets in New Orleans," Rhett said. "I say grew up… One day I just sort of…was there. On Bourbon Street. I was carrying my journal, and wearing this," she said, indicating the knot-like pendant dangling from her throat, "two things I've never been without since that day."

"How old were you?" Kenzi asked curiously. Rhett smiled sadly.

"Someone told me I looked about eight years old," she said. "I have no memory of anything earlier than opening my eyes and being in the French Quarter."

"Bummer," Kenzi said, her expression turning quirky.

"Isn't it," Rhett smiled. "So, the city became my home. After a little while I found a group of other homeless kids. We looked after each other, until I started spending time with a little girl named Brenda."

"What happened to her? Didn't they like her?" Kenzi asked.

"Oh, she's a ghost," Rhett said, and Kenzi's eyes widened, and Rhett smiled as she glanced past Kenzi's shoulder. A little girl, barely six years old, holding a little knitted rabbit, blonde hair curling down the back of her dainty night-dress, smiled adoringly at Rhett, peering curiously at Kenzi. Kenzi was oblivious, and she glanced at Rhett, eyebrows raised.

"Is?"

"_Mommy_," Brenda beamed, eyes bright. She peered at Kenzi, reaching out her hand to touch the sparkling barrettes binding intricate braids to Kenzi's pigtails. "Pretty."

"Brenda's standing right behind you," Rhett smiled, and she smiled as Kenzi whirled around in her seat, almost falling out of her chair, her eyes wide as they darted around the room. "She likes your barrettes."

"Thanks…?" Kenzi said, staring three feet from where Brenda stood.

"I have to say, you deal with the macabre very well," Rhett said softly, glancing at Kenzi, who laughed weakly.

"I watch a lot of horror movies and crime TV-shows," she said, scanning the air for Brenda.

"Learning forensic counter-measures for your cons?" Rhett smiled. "What's your latest?"

"Not a con!" Kenzi smiled, giggling softly. "I just sell bud at the high-schools."

"Well, help yourself to the complementary robe and shampoos," Rhett said, and Kenzi grinned as she licked her fingers of pizza grease.

"Thanks!" she smiled. While Kenzi cleaned out the room of its 'free swag', Rhett smiled and pulled a blank notepad, topped with the motel letterhead, from the dresser along with her pen.

"Dude, we gotta problem," Kenzi said, rushing out from the bathroom.

"What's that?" Rhett asked, pen poised to put another entry in the journal.

"I think I dropped my wallet at the auction house," Kenzi grimaced guiltily.

"How did you lose your wallet?" Rhett blurted disbelievingly.

"It must've fallen out of my bag while I was putting shit in it," Kenzi said.

"Wonderful," Rhett groaned softly. "Alright, grab your bag, you can fill it again. Got it?" Kenzi grinned and grabbed her bag, shoving it over her shoulder, and held out her hand to Rhett, who smiled, took it, and she traced them to the auction-house.

"You're getting better," Rhett smiled, as Kenzi let out a harsh breath and steadied her trembling hands on her buckling knees. Kenzi gave her the thumbs-up. The auction-house was empty now, and Rhett released them from the spirit realm so Kenzi could rush about searching for her wallet and pocketing anything small enough to carry.

"Oh my _GOD_!" Kenzi shrieked.

"Kenzi?" Rhett called, tracing exactly to Kenzi. She was gawping, wide-eyed, at a gilt-framed portrait.

"What the hell, dude!" Kenzi blurted, gasping, as she turned to gape at Rhett. Rhett stared at the painting. Mother, creepy father, the little girl with the _doll_. "I thought we burned that thing. I wasn't dreaming, was I?"

"No, we burned it," Rhett said softly.

"Well how do we destroy it?" Kenzi blurted indignantly.

"Well, when a portrait is haunted, it's always the subject itself that haunts it," Rhett said softly.

"Okay, so we have to go through that creepy family's dirty laundry?" Kenzi grimaced.

"Yeah. Come on," Rhett said, touching Kenzi's arm.

"Er…why are we _here_?" Kenzi asked, shivering after the warmth of the auction-house. The blackened slush piled against the sidewalks, ice puddles frozen over, people heavily laden with thick coats, hats, scarves, gloves, it was a Northern winter and there was a reason Rhett loved the private island she had been paid with for a job ten years ago.

"We have to find out what happened with the family in that painting," Rhett said. "The first place to look is always the local library. They keep archives of all the old newspapers and documents."

"A library?" Kenzi grimaced, but she followed Rhett into the ionic-columned building, which was blissfully warm after the frigid icy air outside. A round-faced, helpful and rather excitable older man came forward to help Rhett at the information desk, eager to go through the archives for her, since so few ever did.

"You said the Zebediah Plumfeld family, didn't you?" he said eagerly.

"Yes," Rhett smiled softly. "Very unusual name to mistake."

"I pulled up every scrap of local history I could find," the librarian said. "Are you a crime buff?"

"Why do you ask?" Rhett asked curiously. The librarian held up the coversheet of an antique newspaper, dated April 16, 1912.

"Hey, the _Titanic_! That's a sad movie," Kenzi said, eyeing the front-page article. The librarian tapped at a smaller article to the left of the photograph of the _Titanic_. It read _'__Father__Slaughters__Family,__Kills__Self_'.

"The entire family was killed?" Rhett said, raising her eyebrows.

"It seems this Zebediah, he slits his daughter's throat, then his wife, then himself," the librarian said excitedly.

"And it wasn't even Christmas," Kenzi sighed, shaking her head, and the librarian chortled.

"Does it say why he did it?" Rhett asked. The librarian scanned the newspaper article.

"Well, there were rumours that his wife was planning to pack up the daughter and leave him—says here he was stern and had a harsh temperament, ruled his family with an iron fist… Zebediah was a barber by trade, he used a straight-razor, and…" He drew his finger across his throat.

"What happened to the family?" Rhett asked.

"They were all cremated, interred in the family mausoleum," the librarian read off the newspaper.

"Did you find anything else?" Rhett asked.

"Yes, actually, I did find a picture of the family," he replied, bringing out a heavy book and going through the pages. "Right here, somewhere—here it is." He placed the book flat on the table. Avoiding the doll, Rhett frowned at the painting. Something was wrong.

"May I have a copy of this, please, and the article?" she asked politely, glancing up at the librarian.

"Sure, I'll go photocopy them now for you," the librarian smiled.

"Thank you."

"Jeez. This Zebediah guy reminds me of my stepfather," Kenzi said, pilfering a stapler and a tub of paperclips. "He was such a dick."

Rhett glanced at Kenzi as she fiddled with a ball of rubber-bands. "Is he the reason you ran away?"

"I was always running away," Kenzi shrugged unconcernedly. She glanced up at Rhett. "But the real reason…I made my mom choose between me or him, and, uh…she chose him, so…"

"I'd never choose a man over my child," Rhett murmured to herself. Although, she had neither, so the point was moot. But if she did have a baby of her own—which she wanted—she would never abandon them. Kenzi had cleaned out half the information desk of its accoutrements before the librarian returned with still-warm printed copies of the newspaper article and the family portrait, which Rhett was sure was different. To satisfy Kenzi's curiosity and stomach, again, Rhett traced them into a coffee-shop, where she paid for two café au laits and slices of chocolate-cake, and sat frowning at the copy of the portrait while she sipped her drink.

"Okay, dude, you really have been alone too long!" Kenzi laughed. "You don't even talk to yourself, let alone me." Rhett smiled subtly.

"I'm sorry. I'm not used to, er…" She wasn't used to talking to the living. To integrating into the human world at all. It was so very different from when she was little. _She_ was so different from when she was little. "I was just thinking that this picture is different. The painting at the auction-house, the father is looking down at the little girl." She showed Kenzi the copy. "The painting here, he's looking out at us. The painting has changed."

"So you think daddy-dearest is trapped in the painting?" Kenzi said, sipping her café au lait and getting froth on her lip.

"Maybe," Rhett said, handing her a napkin. "Maybe something else changed too, like the _Da__Vinci__Code_ or something."

"I still haven't seen that movie," Kenzi admitted, with a wince.

"Read the book," Rhett smiled. "It's good."

"So…what do we do now? Check out the painting to see what's different?" Kenzi asked, and Rhett nodded. "Hey…you don't mind me tagging along, right? I mean…it was your idea in the first place?"

"I don't mind," Rhett smiled. She actually enjoyed Kenzi's company. A mutual history of living on the street and stealing to survive had drawn her to this girl, but her continuous chatter and smart mouth kept Rhett intrigued, almost on the verge of laughter. She was like no street-urchin Rhett had ever known, almost incessantly optimistic, cheerful even if she considered herself a Goth and claimed not to like smiling very much.

"Cool," Kenzi grinned. "So… Necromancer, huh." Rhett nodded. "How did you figure that out?"

"Well, after Brenda appeared, she started pointing out other ghosts to me, how to recognise them from the living and such. One night, I was sleeping in an abandoned theatre, and I could sense a dead body in one of the backstage rooms," Rhett said, and Kenzi gazed at her over the top of her coffee. "I fell asleep, but in my dreams I was fixated on that body…I woke up to it climbing up my leg, drawn to me." Kenzi's eyes flew wide.

"Shit!" she whispered.

"It was easy to get rid of. I just focused on releasing the spirit from the decaying body," Rhett said softly, "and I ran like hell."

"Sure, sure!" Kenzi nodded, eyes still wide. "That happen to you a lot?"

"Never unintentionally, now," Rhett said, and Kenzi shivered.

"Do you like raise armies of zombies or whatever?" she whispered. Rhett grinned.

"Not entire armies, but there is an annual competition amongst the fey, a sort of deadly Amazing Race where the most dangerous fey in the world compete for artefacts and talismans, and the last round is a gladiatorial battle," Rhett said, and Kenzi gazed at her.

"_Gladiator_! I love that movie!" she said, humming delightedly. Rhett smiled.

"The three competitors with the highest scores have to go up against each other, and against every fey the elders provide for the bloodbath," Rhett said.

"So…when they're killed, you bring them back?" Kenzi said, and Rhett smiled.

"I can reanimate the corpses to battle the other fey," she said, "so I can focus on the other contenders."

"That is so _awesome_!" Kenzi laughed suddenly, clapping her hands. "You could take over the frickin' _world_ with a zombie army." Rhett shrugged slightly. "So, you can like talk to ghosts and shit?"

"Talk to, control," Rhett said, shrugging slightly. "I can reanimate corpses, travel between the realms of the living and the dead, and I can both give life and bring death."

"Wow," Kenzi breathed. "Just like, one zap, and they're gone?" Rhett smiled over her coffee.

"It's not so much of a zap, it's more… Every living being, and the dead, I can see their spirit, even in this realm. I used to have to do it physically, reaching into a person to take hold of the soul to remove it," Rhett said softly, and Kenzi's eyes widened. "Now, I can do it mentally."

"So you could like _kill_ _me_ right this second?" Kenzi gasped. Rhett smiled.

"I would never kill you, Kenzi," she said gently. "You have an incredibly pure spirit." Kenzi let out a laugh. Rhett's lips twitched. "When I say pure, I don't mean in the Christian angelic sense." Kenzi laughed again. "I mean your spirit is incorruptible." Kenzi was quiet for a moment.

"Okay, so…are we gonna head back to the auction-house to exorcise that freaky painting or what?" she asked.

"You're awfully eager," Rhett smiled.

"What can I say, this is the most fun I've had in weeks," Kenzi shrugged, giving her a smile as they climbed out of their seats. Kenzi stole a handful of lollipops from the jar on the counter as they left the café, and Rhett smiled as Kenzi offered her one, then her hand, and walking into a nearby alley, unwrapping their lollipops, Rhett gently touched her palm to Kenzi's, and traced them to the auction-house. The painting was gone.

"Uh…where's the painting?" Kenzi said, gazing around the blackened auction-house. In the maybe two and a half hours since they had been investigating and drinking their coffees, it had disappeared. "Don't tell me they sold it. Dude, some other family's gonna get slaughtered!"

"I'm afraid so," Rhett said softly. She glanced at Kenzi, and at the same time both blurted, "Invoice." Rhett almost laughed as Kenzi darted toward the spiral-staircase; she grabbed hold of the girl's coat and traced them upstairs, into the office. Pouring herself a tumbler of whisky, Kenzi searched the cupboards and sideboard, pocketing several things, while Rhett went through the filing-cabinets.

"Here it is," Rhett said, shining the light of the lamp on a fresh invoice. She noted the address of the purchaser from the delivery order, and took the two extraordinarily expensive vintage bottles of whisky, dating from the 1920s, from the sideboard, tracing first to her motel-room so she could drop them off, then grabbed Kenzi and traced outside the new owner's house.

One window was illuminated downstairs, but nobody answered the bell; Kenzi went to peer through the windows, while Rhett checked the door; it was locked.

"Kenzi!" she whispered, and the underfed little urchin reappeared. "It's locked. Come here." Kenzi offered her hand almost eagerly now, and they reappeared inside the hall.

"Hello?" Kenzi called dubiously. "_Hello __my __god_!"

It was a massacre. Blood painted the polished wood floor, staining the expensive Persian rug, splashed across the upholstery of the armchairs and sofa, the eyes of four figures wide and petrified, their throats slashed so viciously they were nearly entirely decapitated.

"Come on," Rhett whispered. She saw no ghosts here; their spirits had already been shepherded on. But she glanced at the painting, and Kenzi screamed as the father appeared to move, looking right at them.

"Oh my god! Oh my _GOD_! The painting moved! He moved!" Kenzi shrieked hysterically, panting, clinging to the front of Rhett's coat. "He's after me! I've been chosen! He's going to murder me! It's like The Ring, anybody who sees the painting move is gonna die! Oh my _god_!"

"You haven't been chosen!" Rhett said calmly. A siren's wail made them both jump; red and blue lights flashed through the sheers draped over the windows.

"It's the fuzz!" Kenzi gasped, tiptoeing to the window to peer out. "The jig is up!"

"Then get away from the window, they'll see you!" Rhett said exasperatedly.

"How'd they get here so fast?" Kenzi asked, scowling.

"The neighbours probably heard the family screaming," Rhett said, keeping her eyes on the painting. As long as all of the figures were still within it, they were safe. She did a double-take as movement caught her eye; Kenzi was cleaning out the furniture of everything expensive-looking. "_Kenzi_!"

"What?" Rhett offered her hand. "Oh, right! Jeez!" she gasped, as the front-door was opened. Two now-familiar cops entered the house. Kenzi turned to gape at Rhett, whose eyebrows rose.

"Why's it always them?" Kenzi whispered. Rhett shrugged. She wasn't complaining. That blonde shifter was beautiful. The chocolate-skinned siren let out a low whistle at the sight of the massacre.

"This is the third set of victims in two weeks," the Light shifter, Dyson, sighed, squatting down to examine the teenaged girl lying on the carpet, his hands encased in gloves.

"It's definitely fey," the siren said softly, glancing over his shoulder at the cops taping off the scene. "You getting anything?" Rhett watched as the shifter inhaled deeply, his eyes flashing momentarily black and amber.

"Something," he said quietly. "Some kind of hair-product…watermelon candy." Kenzi turned wide eyes on Rhett, having just removed the watermelon lollipop from her mouth. "Human, a female. It's the same scent I picked up when we went back to the Greggs', and at the auction-house." Kenzi cast Rhett a guilty glance.

"Anything else?" the siren asked.

"Yeah…" Rhett allowed herself to enter the shifter's mind, and her own knees went weak as she enjoyed experiencing the same things this Dyson did when he inhaled her scent. He bounced on the balls of his feet while he squatted down, because his legs had gone jumpy to follow the scent, his cock swelling painfully once more as the scent brought to mind sultry bare-skinned nights in heat-lightning storms and warm rain, sweet, earthy, mercurial.

"So, they're fey?" Kenzi whispered. Rhett nodded. "What kind is he?" She pointed out the shifter.

"He's a shape-shifter," Rhett murmured.

"Really?"

"The only way to tell for certain is to take all his clothes off," Rhett said softly.

"Dirty," Kenzi grinned.

"What is it?" the siren asked, because Dyson's head had perked up. For a second, his eyes lit exactly on Rhett's. She swallowed, her heartbeat quickening, because she was sure he had seen her, his warm, clear eyes so cutting.

"I don't know," he frowned, still gazing at Rhett, though now unseeingly. "I thought I just heard…and there was a blonde…"

"Wishful thinking, dude," the siren laughed. "Hey, you never told me what went down with that nymph the other night."

"This is so weird," Dyson frowned.

"That you don't brag, yeah," Hale laughed.

"No, I mean…there are absolutely no prints. No murder-weapon. No evidence whatsoever. There's no scent on the bodies themselves, so if it was those females, they're good…"

Rhett traced her and Kenzi back to her motel-room.

"Dude, that cop was _rawr_!" Kenzi slashed her fingers through the air like claws. "Tasty!"

"He was," Rhett grinned. Her smile faded, however, too troubled by this absurd turn of events. "And he saw me."

"I thought you said nobody could see you in the spirit realm," Kenzi said, picking up the bottle of whisky Rhett had set on the dresser to examine the ancient label.

"They never have before," Rhett said. "Only other necromancers, and I've only ever met one other before." She shuddered at the memory of meeting that other necromancer, and put it out of her mind. "And he could scent me, too."

"Is that good or bad?" Kenzi asked, making a popping noise as she plucked the lollipop out of her mouth.

"It's just bizarre," Rhett said quietly. "I've never known anybody to sense my presence at all. I leave no scent to other fey. And he was _definitely_ fey. He must be a very old shifter."

"He didn't look very old," Kenzi said. Rhett smiled at her.

"In the fey world, looks are always deceiving. A thousand-year-old nymph can look nineteen," she said, and Kenzi's eyebrows rose.

"Now that's aging gracefully," she said, and Rhett smiled. "So…what now?"

"We'll have to wait to examine the painting till the morning," Rhett said, tugging her boots off. "Hopefully the cops will have gone by then."

"You mind if I crash? I've kinda been couch-surfing," Kenzi said guiltily.

"There are two beds," Rhett said, indicating the unused double. Kenzi let out a squeal of delight and bounded onto the bed, groaning as she sank into the mattress. Kenzi pulled a tattered deck of cards out of her pocket, smiling.

"Do you play?" Rhett smiled, climbing onto the bed beside her.

"Three cards, please," Rhett said, half an hour later; the comforter was a mess of pretzels, gumdrops, bottles of 1924 whisky, antique _Fabergé_ snuffboxes, expensive watches and other trinkets Kenzi had lifted, and Kenzi smirked delightedly as she dealt three cards to Rhett. "And I'm gonna take one card."

"One card. Straight or a flush, Kenzi?" Rhett smiled. "Which are you trying to fill in?"

"Well, considering the odds of filling in an open-ended straight with one card are five to one against, while a flush draw is more like 4.5 to one, I guess you'd say if I was smart I'm drawing to a flush. Hm… I think I'm gonna go all in on this."

"I will too then," Rhett smiled, pushing the remaining gumdrops from her bag, two lollipops, a handful of miniature bottles of liquor from the mini-bar and the pair of Christian Louboutin heels Kenzi had tried on and gushed over. "So, are you?" she asked.

"Am I what? Am I drawing to a flush?" Kenzi asked. "Or am I smart?" Rhett shrugged, smiling.

"Either."

"Well, I am _dazzlingly_ brilliant," Kenzi said, "but, actually, I was drawing to a full house. Eights over sixes." She set her cards down, smiling triumphantly.

"That's good," Rhett said, sighing, and Kenzi grinned cockily as she reached out to drag everything toward herself. "Oh, wait, not so fast, Dodger. I too have a boat." She placed her cards down. "Jacks over threes!

"That's like a hundred to one against!" Kenzi blurted indignantly.

"Ninety-seven to one, actually," Rhett grinned, chuckling softly at the appalled look on Kenzi's face as she examined Rhett's cards, as if for watermarks of authenticity.

"What the hell, dude!" Kenzi gaped. "I never lose!"

"You've never played against someone with telepathic abilities," Rhett smiled, and Kenzi's mouth fell open, gazing at the loot Rhett pulled toward herself. She could see the cogs whirring behind Kenzi's bright eyes.

"You wanna go to Vegas?" she blurted, her entire face lighting up, and Rhett smiled softly as she shook her head and popped a gumdrop into her mouth. "Me with my mutant card-counting abilities, you with your zombie mind-reading! We could clean out the house!"

"Maybe later," Rhett smiled softly.

"So, you learned to play on the street?" Kenzi asked, and Rhett nodded. "My dad taught me. He'd spend hours in underground gambling dens. Do you play often?"

"Difficult to play with no-one to play with," Rhett said softly, and Kenzi nodded. "Have you ever heard of Wei Qi?"

"It's called 'Go' here, isn't it?" Kenzi nodded. "I've never played. Isn't it the most difficult board-game in the world?" Rhett nodded.

"I like to play against myself. And chess. Though I translate it to a larger stage, now," Rhett said quietly.

"So, have you really been on your own since you were eight?" Kenzi asked, pale eyes sweeping over Rhett's face.

"Aside from my ghost familiars," Rhett said, nodding. "I only see clients to receive briefings and to deliver the goods, and if I'm not on a job or competing in the Hie, I'm at home, on my own."

"What do you do?" Kenzi asked.

"Drink," Rhett said, giving Kenzi a sad smile. "Read, listen to my favourite music."

"Dude, you need hobbies," Kenzi said, and Rhett smiled.

"I do have some," she said, "but they're not exactly contact hobbies."

"Like what?"

"Learning," Rhett said, and Kenzi's eyebrows rose. "I'm only in my thirties, and the fey predate humans. It's a lot of culture to absorb."

"How come you don't hang out with your necromancer buddies?" Kenzi asked.

"True Necromancers are rare. I've only ever met one other," Rhett said, shivering. "I assassinated her."

"Why'd you do that? Weren't you curious?" Kenzi asked. Rhett gave her an enigmatic smile.

"This Necromancer was…well, everything you'd imagine a Necromancer to be. Evil," Rhett said softly. "And I was paid to assassinate her. Being a mercenary means executing the orders you've been paid to follow. Emotions with mercenary work are a liability, so I couldn't let my own curiosity get in the way. Anyway, I learned a lot about Necromancers just in my attempts to kill her."

"So…you're some kind of Xena-meets-Buffy warrior zombie-momma?" Kenzi said, and Rhett smiled.

"Something like that," she said softly.

"Well, that's better than breaking into abandoned movie theatres to sleep," Kenzi said, yawning. "I'm _exhausted_!" Rhett checked her watch, Kenzi's eyes lighting up with delight as she saw the little watch-face concealed behind a little gold pyramid stud on the brown-leather strap. Given the dog-collar Kenzi was wearing, Rhett assumed she liked studs.

After another few rounds of poker, Kenzi attempting to win against Rhett and getting more and more exasperated that she couldn't, Kenzi yawned, tugging her boots off, and Rhett smiled as the young girl transferred the winnings from their poker-game onto the table instead of her bed, dragging out a pair of pyjama-bottoms and a long-sleeved t-shirt and cropped black shrug from the very bottom of her bag, scurrying into the bathroom to change and brush her teeth. Rhett changed into her pyjamas and climbed into bed, already dozing by the time Kenzi reappeared, her hair in low, plain pigtails without embellishments, and climbed into bed.

"You know," Kenzi murmured, her eyes closed already, "you're pretty cool for a zombie-queen."

"Thanks," Rhett smiled to herself, using telekinesis to turn off the lights. Kenzi's sweet little snores didn't disturb her, though it was strange to share a room with someone. It occurred to Rhett as she drifted off to sleep in the warm cocoon of her bedding that she hadn't asked Kenzi if she was okay after seeing those four murdered humans.

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><p><strong>A.N.<strong>: Please review!


	3. Prologue 03

**A.N.**: Please review!

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><p><strong>Grit<strong>

_03_

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><p>Rhett was already awake, showered and dressed by the time Kenzi woke next morning, however early that was anyway.<p>

"Thumper, you got any coffee?" Kenzi sighed to herself, holding her head. "I had the _worst_ nightmare."

"What was it about?" Rhett asked quietly, and Kenzi's pale face appeared, her green eyes wide and pale. Her mouth fell open, staring at Rhett. Rhett rustled her newspaper, suddenly and bizarrely self-conscious, something she had never been since she had first woken in the French Quarter.

"Okay, so that whole thing _wasn__'__t_ just a bad, bizarre dream," Kenzi murmured to herself, pale eyes darting around the room, to the treasures the little magpie had pilfered from the auction-house and the home of the last victims of the ghost.

"Are you alright?" Rhett asked gently. "I never asked how you were after seeing those humans."

"I'll be okay," Kenzi said, giving her a reassuring smile. "I watch a lot of _Criminal_ _Minds_. I can't believe you _beat_ me at poker. Nobody ever _beats_ me! I _am_ still alive, right, you didn't like pull the plug on me during the night?" Rhett smiled.

"No, I didn't," she said, and Kenzi let out a breath of relief.

"_Whew_! Some nightmare I had! Hey—I was wondering, how come you don't just grab hold of the ghost and send him on his way," Kenzi said.

"I could do that, but then I'd have nothing to do the rest of the week," Rhett said, and Kenzi nodded.

"Word," she sniffed subtly, then frowned and sniffed again. "Breakfast?"

"Help yourself," Rhett said, knowing she would anyway. She had bought enough for the both of them, and Kenzi made a happy, grateful little noise as she crawled into the chair opposite Rhett, tugging a polystyrene box toward her, opening it to reveal steaming pancakes drenched in syrup.

"Score!" Kenzi grinned. "Hey, you need an apprentice or something?"

"Necromancer's apprentice?" Rhett smiled. "Morbid choice of vocation, Kenzi."

"And yours isn't?" Kenzi shot back, waving a wedge of sticky pancake on her fork.

"Touché," Rhett smiled. "Anyway, you wouldn't want to be tied to me."

"Are you kidding?" Kenzi blurted. "You realise how much swag I stole the last few hours?" Rhett smiled.

"Wait till the day is done, and then we'll see," she said, knowing this part of the job would be the creepiest. After breakfasting, Kenzi sang to herself in the shower, leaving Rhett to document in her journal the newspaper article from 1912, the copy of the family portrait, and the fresh murders. Rhett put the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside of the door so the maid wouldn't take the stolen items Kenzi was very protective of, tracing them to the upstairs of the latest victims' house.

"Anyone here?" Kenzi whispered. Rhett scanned the house, shaking her head, and Kenzi let out a gleeful laugh and went straight for the master bedroom, raiding the mother's jewellery box, the father's watch collection, and the teenaged girl's clothing, the son's video-games and stereo. Rhett watched, memories eclipsing from her childhood, doing exactly the same thing, delighted at anything shiny and expensive-looking, sneaking into houses in the dead of night and when families went on vacation to go through their closets and kitchen cupboards. Kenzi grabbed boxes of Pop Tarts and the caramel-apples freshly-wrapped in the pantry for a Thanksgiving celebration. She went through the wine cellar and turned to Rhett with puppy-dog eyes, imploring; Rhett traced Kenzi back to the motel-room, where Kenzi deposited much of the stolen stuff, and returned.

"You know, you really should pace yourself," Rhett said, amused. "Binge-thieving is an illness." Kenzi laughed, and Rhett tugged her downstairs. The bodies had been removed, the blood stains sectioned off with yellow police tape.

"Creepy ass thing…" Kenzi grumbled, as Rhett reached up to remove the painting from the wall, avoiding looking at the doll, and set it on the sofa. She frowned at the painting closely. "Um… Aren't you worried it's gonna…you know, kill us?"

"Certain ghosts are driven to do things very specifically," Rhett said softly. "This one seems to act at night." Kenzi opened the copy of the painting. Rhett frowned at it, sticking a hand in her jeans pocket, which was empty. She glanced up at Kenzi.

"That's the best lift you've made yet," she said, and Kenzi grinned.

"Hey, in this, the razor's closed," she said, approaching Rhett and showing her the picture. "In the painting it's open. Does that matter."

"If Zebediah's ghost is changing things in the painting, it's doing so for a reason," Rhett said thoughtfully, examining the picture. "Look—the painting within the painting. In this copy of the original, it's a landscape. And on here, it's a mausoleum."

"That dude in the library said their cremated remains were interred in a mausoleum," Kenzi said, grimacing at the thought. Rhett touched Kenzi's shoulder, and Kenzi choked and panted, stumbling about when she traced them out of the house.

"Okay, you _gotta_ warn me when you're gonna do that!" she blurted.

"Sorry," Rhett said softly.

"Are we inside a crypt?" Kenzi blurted, eyes darting around, and Rhett sighed as she glanced around the small mausoleum. It was full of cobwebs—bringing back nasty memories of a particular rare under-fey she had hunted once—and smelled like dust, closed off for the last century. There were several plaques laid into the wall, where urns had been interred, and a delicate headstone dedicated to Gladys Plumfeld, with a single urn beyond hers, glass encasing a porcelain doll with curling hair. "Oh my _god_, look at this!" Kenzi gawped, grimacing at the doll. Rhett avoided the doll, frowning at the mother's headstone, the two urns. "What's the matter with you?"

"Pediophobia," Rhett said quietly, shivering.

"Hey?" Kenzi raised her eyebrows.

"It's the fear of dolls," Rhett said, clearing her throat softly.

"You don't like dolls?" Kenzi smirked. "Why'd they put it in there?"

"It was traditional during Victorian and early-Edwardian times, when a child died their favourite toy would be preserved by the headstone," Rhett explained. She had seen a _lot_ of preserved toys—the best tomb was a child-emperor's Byzantine crypt. "Something's wrong."

"Er, _yeah_," Kenzi laughed, staring at the encased doll.

"I mean, there are only two urns," Rhett said, pointing them out. "Mother, little girl."

"Where's old Sweeney Todd?" Kenzi sniffed.

"That's a good question," Rhett said, reaching out to wipe the dust off the metal plaques mounted on neat rectangular marble slabs set against the wall, reading the names. She heard the sound of metal scraping on metal and glanced over her shoulder. Kenzi was grunting, her teeth bared, as she forced a screwdriver to turn a rusted screw. "Where did you get that screwdriver?

"Come on, an antique Edwardian doll?" Kenzi grunted. "It looks like it's in pristine condition. It'll be worth a bundle to a collector." Rhett sighed and took the screwdriver from Kenzi, taking her place in front of the headstone; she avoided looking at the doll, but she could feel its eyes on her, and quickly, with a peal of metal on metal and the disruption of a shower of rust shavings, the glass plate was removed from its bracket.

"You really don't like dolls, do you?" Kenzi said, as Rhett stepped away from the headstone.

"I don't know why, I just…" Rhett shivered as Kenzi took the doll and taunted her with it. Rhett gave her a look, and Kenzi chuckled as she tucked the doll into her bag.

"There we go, the Necromancer's safe from the big bad dolly," she teased. Rhett offered her hand, and Kenzi grinned as she took it.

"Dude, I've been to the library more in the last day than I have in the last year," Kenzi said, turning a deadpan glance.

"I believe that. I love libraries," Rhett said, her hands in the pockets of her grey wool pea-coat, tucking her chin into the cashmere stole draped around her neck.

"Why?" Kenzi asked, giving her a weird look.

"There was one off the French Quarter when I was growing up," Rhett said quietly. "They'd leave the heating on at night during the winter; I used to sleep there when the weather was really bad. I never went to school, so…I read my way through the shelves." Kenzi nodded, her expression a little more sombre; her thoughts were so easy to read, and Rhett heard her thinking Rhett's life had been a lot harder even than Kenzi's had been in recent years. She had run away; Rhett had been homeless her entire childhood, no family whatsoever, nobody to take care of her or love her, nobody she could love in return besides her ghost friends.

Rhett had never had anybody feel sorry for her before. The ghost of an old grandmother had once worried that Rhett spent too much time with the dead rather than the living, but that was the closest she had come to anyone having any sort of emotion for her beyond the few relationships she had engaged in. Perhaps because this was the first time Rhett had ever really let herself have lingering contact with someone for years.

Fifteen minutes later, Rhett had the certificates of burial for Zebediah Plumfeld in her hand. "Apparently, the surviving relatives of the Plumfeld family were so ashamed of Zebediah they didn't want him interred with the rest of the family, so they handed him over to the county for a pauper's burial," Rhett said, and Kenzi raised her eyebrows.

"He wasn't cremated," she said thoughtfully.

"No."

"So there are bones to burn," Kenzi smiled.

"How are you with cemeteries in the dark?" Rhett asked, and Kenzi grimaced.

"Just don't bring back my grandma," she shuddered. "She was a crazy bitch on wheels." Rhett smiled, and until dark, she took Kenzi around the city, picking up a shovel, a flashlight, a tub of salt and a bottle of lighter-fluid.

"So, how did you get into this whole ghost-hunting deal?" Kenzi asked, as they strolled across the cemetery. Rhett didn't particularly like searching for things in a cemetery while in the spirit realm; there were far too many spirits, and they tended to gang up on her when they knew she had access to the living realm as well as the spirit one. "You say you grew up on the streets but you're wearing a real _Hermés_ watch. I know my knockoffs."

"This isn't my day-job," Rhett said, the shovel draped over one shoulder as the beam of the flashlight shivered in Kenzi's hand.

"What do you do, then?" Kenzi asked curiously.

"I'm a mercenary. Fey pay me to do things nobody else can," Rhett said.

"Like what?"

"Well, if I told you I'd be betraying my vows of silence," Rhett said. "Once a job is over, it's over. Nobody needs to know the specifics." Kenzi tapped her arm and pointed the beam of the flashlight to a plain grave.

"That's our guy, right?" she said, and Rhett nodded. Stripping off her pea-coat and stole, she tossed them over a nearby headstone, which Kenzi promptly perched herself on top of, shining the beam of the flashlight on Zebediah Plumfeld's grave.

"So what kind of money are we talking about here?" Kenzi asked curiously.

"People who contact me already know what they'll pay for my services, and only the people who can afford it contact me," Rhett said, and Kenzi grinned. Rhett started digging, after tying her hair up in a ponytail.

"Sounds high-profile," she said, sounding impressed. "Give me an example." Steadily digging, Rhett paused and panted, swiping her wrist across her forehead.

"Okay," she said, chest heaving after digging so quickly. "The ghost of a murdered sea-captain offered me the location of the galleon ship he was mutinied on, if I retrieved his kidnapped descendent. He couldn't communicate with her family, though he knew where she was."

"He gave you the location of some sunken ship?" Kenzi said, looking less than impressed.

"It was a Spanish galleon, centuries old, lost at sea," Rhett panted softly. "Gold and silver plate, rubies as big as coals, chests of diamonds, sapphires the size of your fist." Kenzi's eyes widened delightedly, and Rhett smiled brightly. "It was all hidden in a cave, protected by a blowhole. All I had to do once the girl was returned, safe, to her family, was excavate everything to a safe place. I started out as a mercenary for hire by ghosts, but then word spread, somehow, fey who got in my way told others, suddenly I was in demand with the living, which was an entirely different cage-fight."

"How do you become a mercenary?" Kenzi asked.

"You convince your client you're the only person who can get what they need, and then you do anything necessary to get it," Rhett said. "I learned as I went along, but I had my book, which helped. I already knew how to fight, so I honed my skills. Ghosts I helped granted me favours, teaching me things when I didn't know where to go to learn them elsewhere."

"Like what?"

"Like swordsmanship, and learning how to read runes, and Latin. How to dance; and how to mix potions to defend against under-fey. How to cook; how to talk politics; how to hone what I read in clients' minds to decipher what they weren't telling me; which cutlery to use at a fancy restaurant; how to make believe people I come from money to fit in when my highest-paying clients wanted to meet me; how fix the pipes; and how to utilise the internet; how to drywall," Rhett said. Every ghost she had met, she had done favours for in return for some of their time, if she was giving up some of her (admittedly infinite) time for them.

"Ghosts can teach you all that?" Kenzi asked dubiously.

"It's rare that ghosts find a living person who can see them," Rhett said, shrugging slightly. "It's lonely for them, so when somebody can see them…they like to help. Help _me_, at least."

"So…about those sapphires…" Kenzi said, and Rhett smiled as she dug hastily. "You know what, you are just way too comfortable with this."

"This isn't my first time," Rhett said, glancing up at Kenzi.

"So you do this for fun?" Rhett shook her head, smiling, and panted softly for breath.

"I do this for karma," she said softly, and Kenzi nodded. "When I started out, I went around rooting out vengeful ghosts who were hurting humans. The more I was drawn into the world of the fey, the less I thought about humans at all, but I'll always stop a ghost senselessly slaughtering people, drawing attention to the supernatural."

"Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"How come humans don't all know fey are real?" Kenzi asked.

"It's more comfortable for us that humans think we're make-believe," Rhett shrugged.

"Like in Harry Potter, Hagrid says Muggles would be coming to wizards for magic solutions to all their shit," Kenzi nodded.

"Exactly."

"So why're you telling me?" Kenzi asked, and there was something a little different in her tone; it wasn't as light now, it was more…steely, sterner, more suspicious.

"Who'd believe you if you told?" Rhett asked, and Kenzi let out a soft laugh that sent a plume of warm air into the atmosphere, illuminated by the flashlight.

"There's that…" she said. A few moments later, Rhett tossed up another shovelful of dirt and struck something solid beneath her feet. Kenzi got off the headstone and peered into the hole Rhett had dug. "That was fast. It takes Stanley a whole day to dig a five-foot hole," she said, and Rhett glanced up, an eyebrow quirked bemusedly. "_Holes_. It's a book I read in elementary-school."

"Well, I'm a _lot_ stronger than humans," Rhett said, using the shovel to loosen the dirt around the edges of the old coffin. She tugged it open when she was able, revealing a skeleton dressed in faded old clothing, once Zebediah Plumfeld's best suit. Kenzi clambered down the sides of the hole, dropping in neatly beside the coffin, and peered curiously at the skeleton before poking the clothing with her flashlight. "What are you doing?"

"Checking his pockets," Kenzi said, as if that was obvious.

"We desecrate graves, Kenzi, we don't rob them!" Rhett said, amused.

"You desecrate, I'll rob," Kenzi panted. "Besides, there's nothing here." Rhett peered at the skeleton and picked out a silver coin from Zebediah's pocket.

"There's a 1910 silver-dollar," she said, handing it to Kenzi. "That should fetch you some coin at a pawn shop."

"Sweet," Kenzi grinned, depositing it in her pocket.

"Can you hand me the salt, and the lighter-fluid?" Rhett said, and Kenzi reached out of the hole—barely managing to reach—and grabbed the small black Dakine backpack Rhett had brought with her; she handed Rhett the salt and the lighter-fluid, and after dousing the skeleton with both, she touched Kenzi's shoulder and traced them out of the hole.

"You've been a real pain in the ass, Zeb," Kenzi announced, as Rhett struck a few matches, dropping them into the dark hole. Kenzi's eyes closed as she leaned toward the heat that sprang instantly from the burning remains.

"Come on," Rhett said quietly. "Someone might see." She touched her hand to Kenzi's shoulder after the girl picked up her bag and crowbar, and Kenzi glanced around.

"I thought the painting was harmless now," she said, because Rhett had traced her to the living-room of the last victims' house.

"Better safe than sorry," Rhett said quietly, striding to the fireplace. Rhett noticed instantly that something was wrong—that they—she—had been wrong. The father was standing in the background, face-forward, but there was a void, dark and conspicuous, beside him.

"Er…I'm no expert on all this ghost stuff…" Kenzi said, sidling up beside Rhett, her pale eyes glowing in the amber light of a streetlamp through the window, "but is the painting supposed to look like that? Where's the chick?"

"And the razor," Rhett murmured, eyes on the lower-left-hand corner of the panting, where the table on which a stained-glass lamp rested once also held a straight-razor. A soft, spine-tingling laugh suddenly made the fine hairs on the back of Rhett's neck stand on end. Kenzi moved closer to her almost unconsciously.

"Okay, that is just way too creepy," Kenzi whispered. "I thought it was the dad."

"He was looking down on her," Rhett said, still staring at the painting. "He was trying to warn us. But she was cremated… The doll is gone from the painting, as well as the razor…"

"My great-grandma passed down her old doll," Kenzi said, glancing at Rhett. Rhett shivered subtly, her cheeks warming a little.

"I told you, I don't like dolls," she said softly.

"No, I mean, when it was made, it was made _exactly_ in her image by some famous toy-maker in St Petersburg," Kenzi said. "They even used my great-grandma's _hair_ for the doll."

"Hair," Rhett said, turning to frown down at Kenzi, thinking quickly. As the laugh echoed eerily in the house, Rhett grabbed the fire-poker from beside the mantelpiece. "Here. Pure iron. Anything comes, slash at it; the iron will repel it."

"What're you gonna do?" Kenzi asked, as she took a warrior's stance, holding the poker like a sword. "_Rhett_!" Rhett paused, her fingers working the buckles of Kenzi's bag, and stared past Kenzi. A little girl, dark hair curling over her shoulders, a sash pinned around her waist, buttoned boots clicking softly on the polished floor, had a mottled purplish-black face, her eyes completely black, and she dragged beside her a doll made in exact likeness to her best dress, down to the hair curling as it dragged on the carpet.

The ghost let out a shriek, her face contorting into something feral and otherworldly-dark, and Kenzi yelled, "That is just _so_ wrong!" Rhett tugged her bag open and pulled out the doll, chucking it into the grate, meanwhile Kenzi yelled, "Think some fey monster's gonna go Mrs Lovett on me after you're through with me, huh!" Kenzi grunted, swinging the poker as the ghost screamed again; in a cloud of darkness, the ghost disappeared, repelled by the pure iron poker. Rhett doused the doll with lighter-fluid and salt, tossing a match onto it, and the doll went up in smoking flames.

The ghost, reappearing right beside Kenzi, an open straight-razor in her hand, paused, her bruised skin burning up like molten lava behind cracks in charred porcelain, and as the portrait flashed, lightening visibly, the girl disappeared, reappearing in the portrait where the painting within it changed, and the razor reappeared on the table.

Rhett glanced at Kenzi. "Are you okay?"

"Drinks are on you," Kenzi moaned softly, dropping the poker with a gasp. Rhett laughed, plucking the painting from the wall, adding it to the flaming remnants of the doll. Rhett followed up on the little girl, and as she carried two beers over from the bar, Kenzi smiled at her as she handed her one of them.

"So, the little girl?" Kenzi said, sipping her drink, and Rhett sat down.

"I did some research," Rhett said, sipping her beer. "The little girl was adopted by the Plumfelds when her real family was murdered in their beds."

"She did it?" Kenzi gaped.

"Sweet little girl, who would suspect a thing?" Rhett said. "So when she killed the Plumfelds, Zebediah took the blame, his ghost has been trying to warn people ever since."

"Why would the little girl kill her family?" Kenzi frowned. "And the Plumfelds? Why kill herself?"

"Who can say?" Rhett said softly, sipping her beer.

"Don't you have some sort of Necromancer court of inquiry?" Kenzi asked, and Rhett smiled.

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><p><strong>A.N.<strong>: Please review!


	4. Grit 01

**A.N.**: First non-prologue chapter. With the addition of Rhett as a character, I've switched things around, but hopefully they'll still work. I also needed to make sure there would be some sort of mystical connection between Rhett and Dyson before Bo could "need healing" so there's a basis for a second love-triangle. Please review! Plot tips or requests are always welcome.

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><p><strong>Grit<strong>

_01_

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><p>"Kids and their camera-phones," Bo groaned exasperatedly, staring at the girl in disbelief as she skittered around the room. "Don't freak out!"<p>

"I'm freaking out!" the pale-eyed girl gasped, hand clenched around her purple cell-phone, as pale as if she had seen a ghost.

"What'd I just say?" Bo gasped.

"How can I not freak out, have you _seen_ you?" the girl shouted hysterically.

"Yes," Bo winced. She knew what she was. Or, rather, she knew what she could do, but had no idea why.

"Did you _kill_him?" the younger girl asked, her jaw dropping, and she started gasping.

"Just slow down," Bo said. She had done what she'd thought necessary at the time. Whatever she was, Bo wasn't a bad person. She had seen that guy's aura, seen the way he'd sniffed after this girl, who looked a lot better without the blonde hair.

"Oh my god. Are you gonna kill me?" the girl gasped. "Oh my god!"

"Now that is just stupid! Why would I save you?" Bo shouted, as the girl started gasping, clutching her sides. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know," the girl panted. "Can you get asthma? I think I'm totally getting asthma here." She panicked and grabbed the nearby floor-lamp, her hands visibly trembling around her cell-phone.

"Just…breathe," Bo winced. Concerned, she stalked around the old couch to take a look at her, maybe help, but the younger girl skittered around the other side of the couch, panicky and gasping, plucking a dainty and very beautiful gold pendant from the collection draped around her throat, a pendant that looked authentic and expensive compared to the cheap necklaces chinking against her chest, using it like peasants warded off vampires with crucifixes. Bo stared at it.

"What are you doing?" she frowned. The girl glanced from Bo to the pretty pendant.

"It's…it's supposed to warn you not to mess with me!" she gasped softly. "Rhett says all fey know her sign so if you mess with me she'll butcher you!"

"Fey?" Bo frowned bemusedly, staring at the girl and scoffing softly to herself at the thought of someone "butchering" her. The girl swallowed, eyes darting over Bo's face. "I'd like her to try," she half-snarled, scoffing. "And what do you mean, _fey_?"

"I mean—you. You're one of them!" the girl exclaimed. She waved her cell-phone. "Rhett says all fey feed on humans in some way! You ate that dude's face!"

"I did _not_ eat his face," Bo sighed exasperatedly. "And who the hell is Rhett?"

"She's a fey mercenary," the girl said. "And my best-friend. Rhett knows _everything_ about the fey." Bo stared at her, churning things over.

"Will this Rhett know what I am?" Bo asked.

"Oh, come on, dude, you're like a frickin' vampire!" the girl exclaimed.

"I'm not a vampire. It's…nothing to do with blood!" Bo retorted. "I just get this…this _hunger_ that grows, until I…do what I did last night."

"But you don't know why you do it?" the girl prompted thoughtfully. Bo shook her head.

"Been searching the last ten years to find out," she said, "but I have no idea."

"Rhett will know," the girl said, so self-assured and confident now that she wasn't terrified by memories of what might have happened last night.

"Oh, really?" Bo scoffed disbelievingly.

"Uh, yeah," the girl said. "From what I've seen when I've been on even just amateur low-profile jobs with her to fill up her days, she is one scary sexy lady you do not wanna mess with, but she's _amazing_ and knows almost everything there is to know about the fey, even if she claims she's still learning. Mom always said find the toughest kid on the playground and make friends with them, and Rhett is _definitely_ the toughest cookie in the jar."

"And you think this Rhett person can tell me what I am?" Bo said dubiously.

"Can't hurt to ask her, right?" the girl said, shrugging. "Look, you're obviously very, very nice for…whatever the hell you are, um, but I just…Rhett says the fey exchange favours sometimes, and you definitely did me one saving me from that creep. I could be dead. How about I arrange a meeting with Rhett?"

"Arrange a meeting?" Bo said derisively.

"Rhett's high-profile," the girl said. "I mean, seriously international fey-female of mystery. She's the most sought-after mercenary in your world."

"Her world, maybe," Bo said. The girl gave her a look like she had insulted this Rhett person by sounding so disdainfully dubious.

"Well, from what I saw you do last night," the girl said, indicating her cell-phone, and her tone became sterner, cooler, "you're not exactly human, are you." It wasn't a rhetorical question. Bo sighed, frowning to herself. If this Rhett person could tell her what she was, if this girl wasn't messing her around…what could it hurt? If she didn't get the information she wanted, she would continue with her plan to skip town, as she had every time she had been forced to kill. She sighed.

"Sure," Bo said, throwing up her arms, and the girl clicked away swiftly on her cell-phone a second later. Tongue poking out the corner of her lips, she made a thoughtful noise when her phone buzzed, and nodded to herself.

"I sent her the video," she said, glancing up at Bo. "And she's just finished up a job last night so she'll meet us for lunch at the diner on 38th and Kirkby. You got a ride?"

"Yeah, my car's out front," Bo said.

"Cool. I'm Kenzi, btw," the girl replied.

"Bo." Kenzi nodded, and scuttled out of the building after Kenzi, stuffing the stolen wallets into her bag.

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><p>The diner was a small place with duck-egg blue walls and clean white tables playing soft country music; it reeked of hash-browns, syrup and strong coffee, and was in the middle of an early-morning breakfast rush.<p>

"Nah, it's cool," Kenzi said reassuringly, as Bo expressed her uneasiness about being in such a crowded place. "The more people there are, fewer of them can overhear." Bo frowned as she followed Kenzi into the diner, keeping a look out for some freak ghost-whisperer mercenary warrior.

"Are you sure she's here?" Bo asked, craning her neck as she checked out the booths and tables; there were still a few night-lifers crashing after a long night, but their auras glowed strongly, still tipsy and giggling in the back booths, and a woman eating an omelette and reading a shiny paperback novel was _really_ asking for it.

"Oh, hey, can you, er, _not_ mention to her what happened at the bar with the guy and the drink…" Kenzi's voice caught someone's attention, and someone glanced up from one of the central tables, enigmatic purplish-blue eyes alert and oddly gentle, landing precisely on Kenzi. Bo had not been expecting, well…her.

This Rhett person wasn't a guy, as the name kept implying to Bo. And she didn't look crazy.

However, the look she gave Kenzi made the slim girl grimace guiltily.

"Okay, scratch that; she already knows," Kenzi murmured, sliding a sidelong glance at Bo. How her friend could know what had happened to Kenzi last night, Bo didn't know, but she followed Kenzi to the table.

Rhett was smouldering. Bo was good at reading energy, sexual auras or something like that. She could tell the levels of attraction between people, and sometimes there were people who had stronger auras than others, people who naturally drew others to them, like gravity. She could always source the most sexually attractive person in a room, and this woman was off the charts. A few glances at her, Bo could see people's auras strengthening in a heartbeat.

Kenzi had told Bo this Rhett was a lethal mercenary sought after by the highest-paying fey in the world. Given her own personal experiences, Bo knew it was stupid to put a stereotypical face to the description, given that she was an unconscious serial-killer herself, but Bo kept imagining, okay, some guy, to start off with, because of the masculine name right out of _Gone_ _With_ _the_ _Wind_, but a butch, scarred, overly muscular female bodybuilder sort.

This Rhett was stunning.

She brought to mind the beauties of Bo's grandfather's hidden vintage pornography collection, when pornography had been all about sultry, natural physical beauty, flatteringly tailored dresses and stunning lighting.

Rhett was a sultry, sugary-golden blonde, her long hair sweeping in beautiful barrel curls over her shoulders, framing a lovely oval, warm-golden face with beautiful cheekbones, and fans of fine, curling dark lashes that encased violet eyes that tipped up beautifully at the outer corners. With a beautiful slender throat and slim shoulders, she had very pretty collarbones and Bo's inner demon gave a moan of hunger at the sight of her gorgeous high, voluptuous breasts, and the contrastingly tiny waist the cut of her soft dove-grey cowl-neck sweater didn't conceal.

Kenzi's slender shoulders hunched as she sloped toward the woman's table. When Kenzi reached the little table, on which Bo saw was a rather scruffy-looking faded brown leather journal stuffed with ripped pages, torn news-print, paperclips, dog-eared loose-leaf, watercolour paintings on vellum and old parchment, and a silver _Blackberry_ that looked sleek and ultra-modern in comparison.

"Hey, Rhett," Kenzi said brightly, smiling at the woman as she leaned down to kiss the woman's cheeks briefly. She beckoned Kenzi with a crook of her finger, and Kenzi fidgeted on the spot before turning around, her lower-lip pouting; the woman patted Kenzi's butt with a sharp _slap_ and dragged out the chair beside her.

"So…" Kenzi said awkwardly, glancing from the blonde to Bo and at the cell-phone in her own hand. "Bo, this is the voluptuous Creole in the eternal top-spot on my sextastic radar, LaRhette, who goes by Rhett when she's not on a job." Bo laughed, and Rhett looked a little amused as she shipped a small brown mug of coffee, though when she glanced at Bo, her eyes hardened like blue-frosted amethysts. "Yeah, uh, Rhett, this is Bo, she er…"

"Saved you from a rapist who slipped something into the drink he gave you while you were picking pockets at a hotel bar," Rhett said, and Bo was taken by her unhurried, sultry Louisiana accent. Bo stared at the woman, then at Kenzi, who grimaced.

"Damn, you're good," she breathed.

"Just well-informed."

"Brenda," Kenzi sighed softly. "Damn, I keep forgetting my guardian ghost—hey, Bo doesn't know what this means." Kenzi plucked the beautiful gold pendant from around her throat, flashing it at Rhett, who slid her eyes unhurriedly onto Bo's face. "You said all fey know it." Rhett made a small motion, and a waitress appeared bearing two menus, and Bo set her bag down under the table as she settled nervously in her seat, Kenzi sighing as she threw herself down and helped herself to a forkful of Rhett's French toast.

"All fey do," Rhett said quietly, in that rich, unhurried Southern accent, but she was watching Bo as she spoke, not Kenzi. The waitress arrived, and Bo and Kenzi ordered food, Kenzi humming happily that "Ramon's in the kitchen this morning! The French toast is goo-_ood_!"

"So, are you gonna read my palm or what?" Bo said impatiently, and Rhett glanced at her with a look that made Bo fall silent, glancing down as if she had just received a very public telling-off. The waitress arrived, bearing plates loaded with pancakes and waffles, thick milkshakes and coffees, and as Rhett finished up her French toast and Bo and Kenzi tucked into their breakfasts, Rhett wrote steadily in neat, delicate handwriting on a sheet of thick, scratchy-looking paper that fit her ring-bound journal after wiping the table down with a napkin.

"So, did you get Russell Crowe in that guy's ass?" Kenzi asked Rhett, peering at the paper Rhett was writing on as she uncapped a hip-flask; as Kenzi glanced away, Rhett traded the coffee-cup Kenzi had just doused with alcohol for her own clean one, and Kenzi pouted.

"After last night, do you really think drinkin' is a good idea?" Rhett asked, sipping the alcohol-laced coffee.

"After last night, I really need some Irish in my coffee, okay," Kenzi said, taking the coffee back, and Rhett gave her a soft smile, barely able to conceal rolling her eyes in amusement. "Hey, you wanna tell us what actually happened last night? Why'd Bo go all Drusilla on that dude?" Rhett frowned bemusedly at Kenzi. "Drusilla. The brunette vampire chick from _Buffy_."

"Oh, Spike's girlfriend," Rhett said, nodding as she gave a soft, sultry smile, and Kenzi nodded eagerly. She turned violet eyes on Bo as she pulled her _Blackberry_ to her, and Bo heard the sounds of Kenzi's video of her feeding. "I examined the footage Kenzi caught of you feeding. How many times has that happened?"

"How many times have I killed someone?" Bo said, glancing up edgily as the waitress passed. "More than enough, let's just put it that way. I just…get hungry, and I try to ignore it, but it builds and builds until I wake up next to a dead lover."

"No such thing as safe-sex with you, huh," Kenzi said, adding a little more alcohol to her coffee before Rhett confiscated the hipflask, her eyes still on Bo as she tucked it into an inside pocket of her camel-coloured wool coat.

"I can't control it," Bo said, pursing her lips.

"You mean you've never bothered to try to," Rhett said, in her rich, slow voice, sounding accusing even though her tone was gentle, and Bo glanced up, sending her an icy glare. Rhett looked completely undeterred as she sipped her coffee. "Instead of embracing your nature and putting in the effort to control it, you've spent the last ten years trying to suppress it, which is why you have so much difficulty controlling yourself when you do feed."

"Look, I don't even know _what_ I am, so if you're gonna do me the favour you owe me for saving your friend—"

"I'm here," Rhett said softly, but with a distinct bite that made Bo shiver slightly. "The favour Kenzi offered was to meet me, nothing more." Bo bit her tongue, exhaling impatiently, but swallowed and said, "Well, do _me_ a favour and tell me what the hell I am."

"First, I have to know one more thing," Rhett said softly, her eyes on Bo, so deep a lovely violet hue, so warm and cutting at the same time, as if she was searching Bo's soul rather than her physical appearance. "What did you do with his body?"

"_Do_ with it?" Bo snapped, scowling. "I left it—" Rhett exhaled through her nose, shaking her head, and she flipped through the contents of her journal to a small, hand-drawn fold-out map that looked to be of the city, but it was coloured off in different sections.

"Light territory," she murmured to herself, her finger tracing what looked like the location of the hotel Bo had been working the bar in till last night.

"What's that mean?" Kenzi asked, her cheeks pouched with waffle, eyes on the map, even as Rhett folded it back up and closed her journal.

"A fey kill was improperly dumped for humans to find," Rhett said quietly. "That means whoever left the kill is in trouble."

"I.E., you," Kenzi coughed, and Bo scowled at her. It was Kenzi's fault she had killed last night. Though admittedly she had been starving for days.

"Uh…what the hell are you talking about?" Bo asked, and Rhett gave her another of those looks that made her shut up more effectively than being yelled at for silence.

"You left the body behind after you used your powers to kill a human," Rhett said softly. "You've drawn attention to yourself and to the nature of your kills. And your kind."

"And what _kind_ am I?" Bo said tersely, beginning to think this Rhett chick hadn't a clue anymore than Bo did.

"One more thing, and then I'll no for certain," Rhett said, as Kenzi finished up her milkshake and the waitress approached, tearing off their cheque. "Convince the waitress to let us skip on our tab."

"Easy," Bo smirked, but Rhett wasn't watching Bo as she tucked her journal into an inside pocket of her stud-embellished camel-coloured wool coat with her phone, but Kenzi was, and as the waitress approached, asking if they wanted anything else, Bo said, "No, we're good." The waitress handed her the cheque, and Bo licked her lips, reaching out to take it.

"We're a little short…right now," she said softly, touching the waitress's wrist, rubbing her thumb against her wrist as she channelled her energy, her coercion or whatever it was, mind-control or something, "if there's, uh…any way I could come back some other time and make it up to you…"

"God," the waitress gasped softly, panting as she licked her lips, "yes." Rhett didn't even look as she belted her coat around her incredibly tiny waist and stalked to the door, but Kenzi's jaw dropped as Bo grabbed her bag and followed the blonde out.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up woman!" Kenzi gasped. "What was _that_? No, I'm serious, what was that?" Clattering to the door, gaping over her shoulder at the waitress, Kenzi threw on her jacket, "Oh my _god_!"

"Hey!" Bo called; Rhett, in her supple brown-leather riding boots, was strolling leisurely down the sidewalk, her hands in the pockets of her coat, an oyster-cream cashmere stole draped around her neck, making her skin glow like pearls. "Hey! You didn't even watch what I can do!"

"Oh, I know what you can do," Rhett said unconcernedly, not looking back at Bo, strolling along completely at her ease, the icy breeze playing with her long, beautiful curls. "I just didn't wanna pay for y'alls breakfast." Kenzi laughed, as annoyance slashed through Bo, icy like the slush piled up by the sidewalks. She grabbed at Rhett's arm, angry, but stumbled, breathless, her knees buckling, her lungs seizing, as pain lanced through her body, her hand going straight through Rhett's arm.

Staring at her hand, Bo was sure it had turned purplish-black and skeletal, and as Kenzi bumped into her, trying to catch up with the unhurried easy strides of long-legged Rhett, Bo stumbled.

"What the hell did you just do to me?" Bo choked, stumbling after Rhett.

"You didn't think you were special, did you? Lone superwoman among humans who alone has the power to do what she wants?" Rhett said, still walking on easily, Kenzi tearing off the tops of packets of sugar she had stolen from the diner and licking the sugar off her fingertip, scuttling beside her. Rhett stooped to pick up the glove Kenzi had dropped, and Bo caught up. "Your strength and power doesn't work on fey the same way as on humans."

"Yeah, but she can frickin' control people by touch!" Kenzi said delightedly. "And not in a creepy hand-job way!" Rhett's lips twitched in a smile.

"It's just this kinda…feeling I give people. They wanna do what I suggest, if I'm touching them," Bo said, trying to explain as she hurried to catch up, her knees still weak, horrified by what trying to touch Rhett had done to her hand, even though it looked flawless and pale as normal now.

"So, you're saying you can seduce people into doing anything just by touching them?" Kenzi said indignantly.

"Sorta. It wears off and takes a lot out of me, but yeah," Bo said, and Kenzi was now scuttling backwards, licking sugar off her fingertip as she stared at Bo, Rhett navigating her through the crowd by the back of her jacket.

"Yet you're broke, you live in an abandoned restaurant, and you run from town to town?" Kenzi frowned. "What are you doing wrong, girl? That is no life for a sex superhero. You should be living in an Italian mansion with a horde of sex slaves and a closet dedicated to designer heels!" Rhett finally whirled Kenzi back around so she was facing the way she was walking, after Kenzi yelped and skidded three feet on a patch of ice, and Bo finally caught up with them.

Bo felt decidedly icy and panicky beside Rhett, so calm, warm and unhurried, completely at her leisure as Kenzi linked arms with her, and as they walked past a small boutique Bo had taken a pair of boots from earlier in the week, Bo noticed Rhett's eyes falling on a handsome blonde guy striding towards them. Bo watched their eyes meet, saw his widen subtly as a gust of wind from behind them swept Rhett's curls around her face, saw Rhett's eyes soften and warm yearningly, and the energy flow of both of them soared. Rhett didn't smile coyly, didn't flutter those fine, curling lashes, or quirk the corners of her lips, or emphasise the sultry walk her long-legged, voluptuous hourglass figure pulled off beautifully. She gazed at him, as his eyes lingered on her face, as if he was the only man in the entire world.

That was a look Bo still had yet to establish. It felled _her_ even more than it did the guy walking past, his energy-level glowing hotter and brighter as Rhett's seemed to throb. By Kenzi's expression as she glanced up at Rhett, who stood taller even than Bo, it wasn't only Bo who could sense the mutual desire between the two. As the man walked past them, Rhett's head remained cocked to the side as if listening to his footsteps fade behind them, and Bo saw her eyes harden.

"We've got a—shit. Kenzi," she said softly, and the girl glanced up at her friend, pale-green eyes wide. "I'll be back in a second. Keep a sharp eye." And just like that, she disappeared. There was no flash of light or puff of smoke; one second Rhett was there, the next she was gone, and Kenzi laughed at Bo's shocked expression.

"Uh…" she said, and Kenzi laughed, tugging on her arm, and she scuttled on down the street toward Bo's car.

"If you're gonna stay in town, you need some kind of manager," Kenzi said, linking arms with Bo the way she had with Rhett, so easily. "Someone to help you live up to your full potential so you can keep me in the lifestyle Rhett has been helping me become accustomed to." Bo laughed, shaking her head, because this was all just too weird. Where the hell had Rhett gone? Was she a figment of Bo's own imagination? "I nominate me."

"Shocking," Bo said, laughing softly, "and no thanks."

"Give us a chance!" Kenzi said indignantly. "You would make a good addition to our super-sexy team of street-hustling delinquent mercenaries…once you're trained up a bit, of course. And, y'know, don't life-suck everybody you meet."

"Keep nattering at me about sticking around, I might life-suck you," Bo threatened, but Kenzi laughed easily.

"You do that, remember me when Rhett's peeling the skin off your body in ribbons with her bare claws," she sniffed dismissively, tucking a lock of black hair away from her face. Bo gave her a weird look. Claws? Rhett's delicate fingertips had been buffed and manicured with clear polish. Bo could convince this Rhett chick to peel the skin off her own body before she'd even get near her.

"Has it occurred to you that hanging out with a homicidal freak might not be such a good move for you?" Bo exclaimed, and Kenzi laughed.

"Homicidal freak. Dude, you are so _emo_!" she laughed. "Learn to enjoy your shit already. Rhett has, she learned _years_ ago. That's why everyone wants her. She gets some _serious_ coin, too! And she's even more of a homicidal freak than you, _trust_ _me_! We've been best-friends for a year and she only takes me on the really tame, kindy-garten-level low-profile cases she takes on for kicks, but they're shit-scary and violent in a Jack the Ripper sort of way."

"And if I stay in town, what's in it for you two?" Bo asked, striding along the street.

"Meh, nothin' yet," Kenzi said, the heels of her boots clicking and crunching away on the salted sidewalk. "We'll see as we go along. First I hung out with Rhett 'cause she's the biggest badass out there, and Mom told me to find the scariest bully on the playground and make friends with them, but she's actually really, _really_ cool, and it would be kickass to have you as part of our little family."

"Oh, really?" Bo scoffed. "Your friend didn't seem that thrilled by me."

"First person to resist the old charm?" Kenzi taunted playfully. "Seriously, though, Rhett's just not that skilled dealing with the living. I'm her first live friend since she was a whole lot younger than me." Little of that sentence made any sense to Bo.

"If she's so badass, how the hell does it help her having _you_ around?" Bo asked, not meaning it to sound quite as dismissive and hurtful as it came out.

"Ten years alone, you're telling me you wouldn't wanna have someone notice if you don't come home?" Kenzi said, giving Bo a look so reminiscent of Rhett that Bo realised Kenzi wasn't joking about them being a little family. "Look, Rhett knows everything there is about the fey, and she's been teaching me to fight. Like warrior fight, not street-brawlin'. I'll bet she could even figure out how to train you so you don't kill peeps when you suck their faces off. _And_, since you're a sex superhero, you'll need a secret sanctum or bat-cave or whatever, and Rhett owns a bunch of buildings in the city, so I'm sure she can find you a crib."

"And, again, what's in it for you?"

"Uh, we get to hang out and be friends?" Kenzi said, as if this was obvious. Bo frowned, taking her car-keys out of her coat pocket as they strode down a graffiti-covered alley to where she had parked her banana-yellow old convertible muscle-car.

"I'll think about it," she said noncommittally, though the idea of what Kenzi was offering was admittedly extremely appealing. For ten long years, Bo had been running. Every time she fed, she killed, she fled. She hadn't had any friends, any family. Any lovers she took only lasted one night with her. She had woken up beside dead bodies more times than she liked to think about. Kenzi grinned, raising her fists triumphantly, and Bo noticed movement at the entrance to the alleyway, where she and Kenzi had walked in from.

It was the blonde guy, this time accompanied by a dark-skinned guy in a fedora, wearing a police badge draped around his neck under his long coat. Bo glanced up, watching them; their eyes were focused on Bo herself, not Kenzi, and the way they held themselves, the decisiveness and stern discipline in their expressions had her warning-bells chiming.

"Take them," the blonde said, in a deep, husky voice, and Kenzi gasped softly, staring at the two men, as the dark-skinned one smiled softly, and said, "Here we go."

A hand touched onto Bo's shoulder, and she stumbled, her stomach roiling with churning pancakes, syrup, strong coffee and milkshake, as her knees buckled and she collapsed onto a soft stone-blue carpet. Fighting the impulse to vomit, her head went dizzy, and she collapsed, to the sound of Kenzi's laughter, and the last thing she saw before passing out was a pair of heelless supple brown-leather riding boots.

When she woke, she groaned, feeling like she was recovering from a bad bout of flu, and realised she hadn't moved from the stone-blue carpet, beyond which she saw was a clean white sofa on which a pair of skinny legs clad in thigh-high black socks were curled.

"What the…?" she moaned, as Kenzi laughed softly, "…dude, that was totally that blonde cop you stalk!"

"Just the one," Rhett said quietly, her voice soft and rich, sultry from the Southern accent. Bo squinted and slowly pulled herself off the floor, realising she was in a spacious, incredibly beautiful penthouse apartment filled with colour, clean lines and gorgeous artwork. Kenzi laughed, her eyes glowing, as she watched Bo pull herself onto the second clean white sofa opposite the one on which Kenzi was now curled up. Behind her, illuminating Rhett's figure, was a long wall of seamless panoramic windows overlooking a beautiful cityscape and the very tops of trees already burning rich ochre, orange and fiery red.

"Hey, she's awake," Kenzi said, tugging on the sleeve of Rhett's coat. The blonde turned to glance over her shoulder as Bo pulled herself onto the sofa opposite Kenzi's, her light head settling into her palms.

"What the hell did you do to me?" she moaned softly, vaguely noting the art-glass bowl, the neat stack of books dedicated to art and music, and the strange board-game on the black lacquer coffee-table between them, and the black-framed grey-upholstered armchairs on her left, a wiry red table between them, the two matched ottomans on her right, beyond which was a zigzag-upholstered armchair and matching ottoman, and a leather-topped desk set at an angle to the room, above which hung a beautiful chandelier of clear glass baubles. A sheet of glass served as a banister up a set of stairs, and hanging on the wall was a piece of artwork, white, with the words "Prada MARFA" on it. At the bottom of the staircase was a small bookcase, and set against the wall behind Bo was a small antique settee, a print of an old Chanel No. 5 ad framed above it. An antique blue-patterned Oriental urn featured a top of black marble and served as a tabletop for a tiny silver tray on which a little silver teapot and two Moroccan tea-glasses was set. "Where the hell are we?"

"Rhett's crib," Kenzi said happily. "Swanky place, huh? _I__'__m_ the manager for the building."

"How did we get here?" Bo moaned.

"Rhett traced us," Kenzi said. "Some cops were about to hone in our gorgeous asses."

"But how…?" Bo moaned.

"Stay here," Rhett said, more to Kenzi than to Bo, who still had her head in her hands, feeling ill.

"Where're you gonna go?" Kenzi asked.

"Watch," Rhett said simply. "I'll be back in a little while. There's food. Keep your hands _off_ my whisky."

"Trust me, I learned my lesson the first time you traced me to Siberia!" Kenzi said, and when Bo glanced up, Rhett had disappeared completely.

"What the hell did she do to me?" Bo moaned.

"Rhett can disappear and reappear anywhere," Kenzi said happily. "And she can take peeps with her. Takes a while to get used to, but I never passed out!"

"How'd she know…?" Bo said softly.

"That we were in trouble? Meh. Rhett knows everything," Kenzi shrugged. "Said she read in that blonde cop's mind that he was onto you being the fey who killed that douche last night, wanted to bring you in somewhere, but she had to go escort a soul before she could get back and warn us. If she doesn't go when she's called, she pays for it." Little of what had happened or been said in the last hour or so made any sense whatsoever, but given what she could do, she decided to go with it. If this Rhett could disappear and reappear, "trace", as Kenzi had just called it, at will, well…Bo could get people to do what she wanted just by touch.

"You okay?" Kenzi asked. "I'll get you a drink if you promise not to vom on anything."

"Yeah, I think I could use one," Bo murmured, and Kenzi hummed amusedly as she unfolded from the sofa; she was now wearing a pair of fluffy purple slippers, and shuffled away. Bo watched, glancing to her left, past the two matching armchairs, and saw the room extended further to the left as well as the right.

She had to admit, this apartment was _gorgeous_. Different flooring marked the parameters of each room even if the penthouse was open-plan and painted a continuous pale-beige; a low lacquered black dresser backed up flush against a grey-marble topped island, on which a six-burner stove was set, with bowls of bright fruits, peppers and chillies, odd vases and antique tins of flowers set amongst pots of utensils and slender bottles of oils and seasonings; hanging from the ceiling was a collection of expensive pots and pans, and beyond the island the shoulder-height cabinet featuring two cupboard-like ovens was sided by a white-marble sink countertop and an industrial fridge-freezer, the top of the polished-wood cabinet a visually-appealing clutter of jars, antique tins, vases and mugs of flowers, lamps, jars of spices and herbs and a selection of crockery, breadboards, trays and cooking-books, a Moroccan tagine and a selection of cast-iron Le Creuset casserole-dishes. Small pieces of artwork were framed, leaning against the wall, and the fridge had a few pictures and notes stuck to it with magnets.

Behind the sofa on which Bo had staggered, a fireplace featured a selection of odd antique vases and bottles, each with a single rose of a different colour, as well as a selection of plain white candles, a mirror with an intricate but white-painted frame hanging on the wall above. Two open archways stood either side of the fireplace, showing a parquet hallway and a sturdy front-door featuring multiple locks and strong chains, and a small but pretty chandelier. Beside the left-hand archway, a stretch of wall featured a beautiful upright piano, and the kitchen opened up to a dining-area, with a round stone-topped table standing on a shaggy red rug, a black-shaded chandelier dangling over the table, the opposite wall dedicated to three narrow windows, the far wall dedicated to an oddly delinquent-style painting featuring the words "That Reminds Me of When I Used to Run" with a red tape flashing across the bottom of the painting, the words, "From the Cops" in white. Below the painting, an engraved silver-topped black iron frame table featured colourful liqueur bottles, a decanter of rich amber whisky, a bottle of bourbon, several bottles of Irish cream, dark chocolate liqueur and Chambord, a bottle of red wine, one of sherry, and a selection of mismatched tumblers, cocktail, grappa and wine-glasses. A stack of neon plastic shot-glasses on the drinks-table and an orange gumball-dispenser on the white-marble counter stood out as odd, and Bo's mind connected them instantly with Kenzi.

"I think just water for now," Kenzi said, tugging a cabinet door open and bringing out a glass, filling it with water from a pitcher in the fridge. "Don't want you to vom on anything. Décor's kinda expensive."

"So you live here?" Bo said, and Kenzi shrugged, smiling.

"Rhett travels a shit load, and if she doesn't have to heal she comes back here to chill out after a job, so we can hang out, but she says everyone should have a safe place they can hole themselves up in, so she decorated a room just for me upstairs, and the den," Kenzi said, smiling warmly. "And if she's not here on rent-day, I collect the cheques."

"Rent?"

"Rhett owns the building. She bought it like nine months ago or so," Kenzi said, handing Bo the glass of water. "Said if we were gonna hang out, she should probably have a home-base here."

"She rich or something?" Bo asked, frowning as she sipped her water.

"Rhett? Sickeningly rich. But she's earned every dime," Kenzi said, and her expression turned from goofy to rather stern in a heartbeat. "The hard way. She grew up on the streets. This isn't the only building she owns now, though; she's got a bunch of properties all over the world, but this is the latest she's renovated. That girl has a work-ethic like I've never seen, dude, she had this whole building gutted and refurbished in a month."

"Any apartments up for rent?" Bo asked. Kenzi laughed.

"No offence, I don't think you could afford the down-payment," she chuckled softly, and Bo smiled, feeling a little better now that she was slowly sipping her water.

"So what was all that you said about her finding me a place to stay?" Bo asked.

"Baby steps, _ma __chéri_," Kenzi smiled.

"Like telling me what the hell I am," Bo said tersely. "Does she even _know_?"

"Rhett has a reason for everything she does," Kenzi said, her tone now soft but a little stern, thoughtful. "Even if she doesn't let on what it is. She _knows_ stuff."

"So where the hell is she?" Bo asked tersely.

"She's gone to follow those two cops," Kenzi said, pouring herself juice from a jug in the fridge. "She'll be back as soon as she gets the info she wants."

"Meanwhile holding out on _me_," Bo said coolly. Kenzi shrugged.

* * *

><p>"What happened?" Trick asked softly. Dyson sank onto a bar-stool, still reeling, his entire body throbbing with adrenaline and desire; he clenched his fists to stop his hands shaking. But he couldn't make his head stop spinning.<p>

That _scent_. He'd caught it numerous times in the last year, since he and Hale had investigated a series of grisly murders he still couldn't satisfactorily explain even to himself. It hadn't been any fey he or Trick could think of, no trace had been left even though items in the homes of the dead had been disrupted. He had caught the scent first nearly a year ago, last winter. Rich, sultry, lightning storms and something so vibrantly alive, humid and saccharine, and for the first time in a year, Dyson could put a face to the scent he kept finding faint memory-like traces of.

It was a face he recognised. Anyone who watched the Hie—and _everyone_ in the fey world watched the Hie now that technology allowed for worldwide broadcasting and viewing—knew those beautiful blonde curls, the violet eyes…the tiny waist he could fit in his hands.

But sudden dread had clenched his gut like a silver vice at the sight of her, striding so casually along the street beside a human Dyson recognised the scent of, and the brunette female Bo they had caught on CCTV in the hotel garage last night, the fey killer who had so foolishly left her kill for anyone to find. If LaRhette was with the brunette, there was no mistaking who this Bo truly was.

LaRhette, the single name she was known by in the fey world, more a title than a name, was the most vicious and highly sought-after mercenary assassin in the fey world. She worked for both Light and Dark, was permitted to join neither side, too valuable to both. Fey children were warned by their parents to behave or LaRhette would come out of their closets at night and kidnap them; adults worried she would crawl out from under their beds and cut off their heads. Dyson had never known anybody wealthy enough to be able to afford LaRhette's services, and she was more a mystery than the Ysabeau Trick had warned him of, but he knew what the rest of the fey world knew; that LaRhette was paid to do what nobody else in the entire fey world could accomplish; she had put four kings on their thrones; she had a legacy of mystery, fey conjectured about what adventures she had been on; and nobody whom she was paid to take out lived past their first sighting of her.

If it was her scent he had been picking up so vaguely over the last year, and he knew it was because his body had responded the same way it always did when the breeze had caught her long curls and blown her scent straight to him…why had she been stalking him, driving him insane with that cock-hardening scent, leaving absolutely no trace, no tangible proof that she existed at all, nothing that he could use to convince Hale that he wasn't losing his touch and going mad.

What the hell _was__she_? He had seen a lot in his long life of war, but he had never come up against any fey with powers she had exhibited. Leaving vague memories of scent, disappearing and reappearing at will, transporting others with her…

"Dyson," Trick prompted, and Dyson glanced up.

"Sorry," he said, rubbing his face tiredly.

"Where's the girl?" Trick asked solemnly.

"Small problem," Dyson said quietly; Hale was chatting up the waitress, continuing their conversation from earlier. "She was with a human. And _LaRhette_." Trick's eyes widened, and Dyson could see the cogs whirring.

"Then it's her," Trick said softly, catching Dyson's eye. "If I wasn't certain before, there's no mistaking the signs."

"LaRhette's part of this?" Dyson frowned. Trick sighed softly.

"She's a very big part of this," Trick said, "even if she doesn't know it yet."

"Yet?" Dyson prompted softly. Trick sighed as he caught Dyson's eye.

"There's very little this LaRhette isn't capable of," he said quietly. "She won't hesitate to put this Bo in her place."

"There's something else," Dyson said quietly, glancing at Hale to check his attention was still on the waitress. Trick flicked his eyes over Dyson's face interestedly. "LaRhette's scent."

"You recognise it?"

"It's the same one I've been catching hints of for the last year," Dyson said quietly. "The one I told you about, driving me crazy because I couldn't track it."

"It's LaRhette?" Trick said, something flickering in his eyes as Dyson nodded. Trick nodded to himself, eyebrows raising thoughtfully, and he nodded again.

"Do you know anything about her?" Dyson asked. LaRhette was a _very_ modern legend, but she had earned that substantial status, from what little Dyson had heard of rumours of her. He sincerely hoped Trick was right, that LaRhette was the one who wouldn't hesitate to control Ysabeau—and take control from her.

"The same rumours as you, my friend," Trick smiled. "If she's as substantial as her reputation, we have much to be grateful for."

"After watching the Hie the last decade I think we all know she more than lives up to her reputation," Dyson said. Watching LaRhette in the Hie was like watching a wet-dream come to life. Once upon a time only the contestants knew what was happening; those at home with their clans received news late, the surviving contenders living off their glory-stories for years to come. Now that technology had evolved so much, the Hie was caught on camera. Watching LaRhette was always mind-blowing.

But for all that, her origins were far murkier than Ysabeau's—perhaps because Dyson knew where she had come from, but only because Trick knew. If Trick knew nothing about LaRhette, that meant a lot.

"That she does," Trick said softly, smiling. "Then you'd better be careful, my friend. We don't want you to have your balls pinned to the wall with silver nails."

"I'll endeavour not to let that happen," Dyson chuckled.

"How will you find the girl, now?" Trick asked, his expression turning solemn again. "You've not been able to track LaRhette before now, or even knew it was her." Dyson sighed softly, rubbing his hands together as he stared thoughtfully at the grain of the wood bar.

"My hunch is this LaRhette doesn't let herself be noticed unless she wants to be," Dyson said quietly. "We want the girl; we wait for LaRhette to show up again."

"Well, while she's with LaRhette, the girl is safe," Trick said thoughtfully. "It will start out better that way."

"How so?" Dyson asked.

"LaRhette is excessively well-schooled with fey politics and war," Trick said, "from what I hear. She'll be able to integrate the girl into the fey community without letting her run feral for answers."

"I hope you're right," Dyson said softly. "I hope she's up to the job."

"It's not whether she's up to it," Trick said quietly, "it's if we can convince her to take the job."

"Protector and controller," Dyson said softly. "That's a hefty responsibility, if you're right about the girl." Trick sighed.

"All the better for when it all comes to the end," he said, even quieter still. "She will understand better than any of us the risks if the girl is allowed to go on unchallenged… The human. Tell me about her."

"Dark hair, with a gold pendant around her neck," Dyson said. "I didn't get a good look at it." Trick smiled knowingly.

"Too distracted by LaRhette's, er…scent?" he smirked, and Dyson shook his head, chuckling softly.

"Maybe," Dyson smiled.

"Anything else about the human girl?"

"I recognised her scent, vaguely," Dyson said. "The same time as I first scented LaRhette."

"Last year, the series of unsolved murders?" Trick said, nodding before Dyson had even answered. The phone rang, and Trick sighed as he went to answer it. For a moment, Dyson stood staring unseeingly at the bottles and glasses arranged behind the bar. Trick set the phone down and glanced at Dyson, his eyes appraising.

"What is it?"

"A meeting," Trick said. "The Morrigan and the Ashe are on their way."

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.<strong>: I feel nobody in the TV show actually goes out of their way to put Bo in her place when she's being a bitch, so I wanted Rhett to have that sort of job. I was watching a clip on YouTube about Wolverine and Gambit in the _Origins_ movie, how to the two were played off each other, which is how I envision Rhett and Bo's relationship to be. Please review. Oh-and can someone tell me what shocking "revelation" Lachlan reveals to Bo in season two? I haven't watched all the episodes yet, I'm up to the one with the Lich and the girl allergic to coffee. _Love_ Kenzi and Hale's scenes together.


	5. Grit 02

**A.N.**: Okay, the person who most influenced LaRhette's figure, in my mind, is Betty Brosmer, a '50s pinup with a _teensy_ waist and beautiful hair.

Humungously distracted by the trailer for _The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey_ which I have been watching on repeat since last night! I now have Rhett going on a similar adventure to Bilbo, mixed in with a sprinkling of _King Arthur_, and the gorgeous demons from Kresley Cole's series Immortals After Dark.

* * *

><p><strong>Grit<strong>

_02_

* * *

><p>The Dal Riata was a place Rhett knew intimately yet had never been seen to set foot inside. Her intrigue over Detective Dyson had led her to stake out his favourite haunts in a bid to learn how he could scent her and, sometimes, catch glimpses of her even in the spirit realm. Rhett knew nothing in the Dal was quite what it appeared on the surface, that the owner was far more than he appeared and that Dyson, so strong, so uncompromisingly loyal, had far-reaching connections despite a very short temper. She also knew that the two of them knew far more than they let on, and that their allegiance to the Ashe only went so far before their knowledge of the bigger picture put them in dangerous waters.<p>

It helped being able to come and go unseen; even if she hadn't possessed the honed ability to read minds, just listening in on some of Dyson and Trick's conversations would have given Rhett enough information to go on. Learning what she had, until this point, had been secondary to the pleasure of watching Dyson. She didn't do it often, just a few minutes, here and there around her completed assignments and spending time with Kenzi.

She found her days were suddenly filled with hobbies and "homework" from Kenzi, aside from assignments and the pro-bono tasks she sometimes brought Kenzi along to. She had _lived_ more in the last year than she had in the previous twenty-four. Because of Kenzi.

It was Kenzi who lived so vivaciously, letting nothing get in her way of living her life the way she wanted to, to the very height of emotional experience. It was Kenzi who taught Rhett to live as if every day was going to be her last, not dwell on the crippling thought that she would exist, alone, for eternity. Eternity was not a compatible concept with Kenzi, who was convinced they only had one life ("probably") and that Rhett had already wasted twenty-five years. She kept trying to coax Rhett to approach the shifter Dyson.

Well, here she was. The Dal Riata was a warm bar usually filled with fey of every kind, both Light and Dark, though now it was empty but for a few waitresses hastily wiping down tables and lighting little candles. At the bar, a short, older man in a leather waistcoat-vest stood talking to Dyson, and at the sound of her heelless boots clicking softly on the worn wooden floorboards, the two men looked around.

Rhett was used to the quietly appraising looks she received when entering a fey establishment. Anybody who watched the Hie recognised her face, and if they recognised her face from the Hie, they had seen her in action and knew a little of her abilities, far more than enough to instil fear and reverence in the fey who approached her. She was used to peoples' expressions falling at the sight of her, fear flickering in their minds as their heartbeats faltered and their auras sharpened with fear and apprehension, wondering who would meet their end by her notoriously vicious hand.

"Good afternoon," Trick said warmly. Rhett smiled, as she strode to the bar, trying not to let her physical reaction to Dyson's nearness show as she sank elegantly onto a bar-stool beside him. "What can I get you?"

"Is it too early for bourbon?" she asked, and Trick chuckled. "Tea, please, if you don't mind."

"Any particular flavour?" Trick asked.

"Blackberry, if you have it," Rhett said softly. Trick smiled and busied himself behind the bar, turning his back on them, and Rhett fiddled with the corner of her coat-hem as she tried not to look at Dyson, whose eyes burned her skin where he stared at her unabashedly. She finally let herself glance at him, her entire body threatening to shiver with delight, and she inhaled sharply, her back straightening subtly, as his pale, warm eyes searched her face, a slow smile picking at the corners of his lush lips.

"I'm Dyson," he said, his warm, lovely voice rubbing her the right way, and Rhett offered her hand, which he encased in one of his large, warm, slightly calloused paws. He had the hands of a warrior, calloused from carrying weaponry before he reached the peak of his strength, when all fey froze, preserving their strength, their looks. Not reading Dyson's mind had become second nature to her now, after so long watching and learning about him, where once she had had to fight not to, to find out what he knew about her, but her eyes scanned his handsome face, hoping he couldn't hear how her heartbeat had quickened now that she had, for the first time, felt how warm his skin was, that he smelled like warm cotton, freshly-showered, and the rich, earthy scent she associated with the finest decadently-aged whisky. "Are you going to tell me who you are?"

Rhett licked her lips subtly. "I'm whoever the Fey need me to be," she answered softly. He gave her a look, and Rhett smiled, feeling her cheeks warm. She was _blushing_? This _was_ the first time she had ever spoken to him. And it had been a long time since she had been accustomed to talking to handsome men she wanted to use as play-toys.

"Who are you, really?" Dyson chuckled softly. Rhett gazed at him, her chest aching as her heart swelled.

"Really?" she smiled sadly.

She never liked introducing herself by name, because Rhett wasn't her name. She didn't know what it was; LaRhette had developed as her street-name. Before she had awoken in the French Quarter, she had no idea who she had been. The concepts of being born of parents and them naming her had been alien to her until she was about ten, watching other people and families while in the spirit realm, observing the complex interrelationships of both humans and fey. In the human world, she had numerous identities, surnames taken from her favourite authors and philosophers; in the fey world, LaRhette served more of a title than a name, a safety against enemies who believed the title was a cover for her real name, the way Ebony Florette Marquis was known only as "the Morrigan" in this city.

She licked her lips, gaze sweeping over Dyson's handsome face. He was…gorgeous. So earthy, raw, so wonderfully, gracefully masculine. "My human friend calls me Rhett."

"Rhett," Dyson said softly, his lips curling in a handsome smile. Trick set a brown cup on the bar, smiling.

"I'm sorry I don't have finer china," he said.

"Thank you," Rhett smiled softly. She glanced at Trick. "I'm afraid I've been rather rude and invited the Morrigan and the Ashe here for a meeting without asking your agreement to host."

"I am aware they're on their way," Trick smiled. "May I know what it's about?"

"An unaffiliated fey left her kill where he died last night," Rhett said. "The fey in question is in my custody." They knew all this, she suspected. Though they acted surprised and only mildly interested, she knew they had been expecting Bo to arrive for a while now. "She also has no knowledge of our world."

The two males exchanged a significant glance.

"I thought I should come and sign in," Rhett said quietly.

"Ah," Trick smiled. "Well, come." He indicated the scrolling iron doors concealing a set of armchairs and a very thick book filled with signatures. Rhett signed in, scrawling "_LaRhette_" in the cursive Kenzi claimed was the handwriting of a serial-killer.

"Uh…your mother's and father's names?" Trick said, and Rhett glanced at him. He raised his eyebrows and nodded subtly. "Well, welcome."

"Thank you," Rhett said softly. Someone knocked gently on the door and Dyson peeked his head around.

"They're here," he said simply. Rhett glanced at him before licking her lips.

"Then I'll go and fetch Bo," she said quietly, and traced away.

* * *

><p>"Hey, my little lightning-bug!" Kenzi chirruped happily, a slice of cold pizza clamped between her lips as she butted the fridge door shut with her bony hip, handing Bo a pudding-cup as Rhett reappeared before them. Bo jumped, her heart racing. "What'd you find out?"<p>

"That I've got work to do," Rhett sighed, as she plucked an orange from the bowl on the island and deftly started peeling it.

"You got another gig?" Kenzi said disappointedly. "But you just got back."

"It's not exactly another job," Rhett said, offering Kenzi one of the orange segments. "And I won't be leaving town for a little while. Something's come up. Well—Bo has come up."

"What about me?" Bo snapped, scowling at her. Rhett gave her a withering look before popping an orange segment into her mouth.

"You dumped your kill where humans could find it," Rhett said, "which is a problem. It's one of the biggest rules of our world. Do not involve humans." Kenzi smirked and fiddled with the pendant Rhett had given her nearly a year ago, grinning around the double-stuffed crust of her cold extra-pepperoni pizza slice.

"Who were those people?" Bo asked, still scowling.

"Light fey," Rhett said softly, her stomach doing something funny at the thought of earthy Dyson, and she avoided looking at Kenzi because she knew the girl's reaction any time the two cops were brought up in conversation.

"What the hell are fey?"

"You are fey. I am fey," Rhett said softly. "Fey is the general term for a host of species that pre-date human existence. If you've ever read a fairytale, studied Greek mythology, been afraid of the thing in your closet or under your bed, you've heard of the fey, though humans by design are led to believe we're little more than myth."

"You're telling me the Loch Ness monster is real?" Bo said dismissively.

"As real as you," Rhett retorted idly, chewing on an orange segment.

"Are you going to tell me what I am or not?" Bo snapped waspishly. Rhett licked her lips of orange juice.

"One of the first lessons about the fey world," she said idly, gazing around the apartment. It was beautiful, and Kenzi had helped pick out a lot of the artwork and accoutrements, more so upstairs where her bedroom and the den had been filled with everything Kenzi had been using to educate Rhett about modern human culture, "is that knowledge is power."

"What do you mean?" Bo frowned impatiently.

"You have no idea what you are," Rhett said, "and I do. Which means I have power over you. I can get you to do anything I want in exchange for what I know. I can also jerk you around by implying I might know more than I really do." She smirked as Bo's eyes flashed blue, starting forward. Kenzi's eyes widened, gasping, but Rhett just stared back at Bo, bored. "If you want me to tell you, I'd suggest you behave." A muscle ticked in Bo's jaw as she scowled, her eyes clearing.

"Are you going to tell me, then?" Bo hissed. Rhett licked her fingertips after popping the last orange segment into her mouth. Swallowing, she said simply, "You're a succubus."

"A succubus?" Bo frowned.

"Succubae feed off of and create sexual pleasure," Rhett explained gently.

"How do I fix it?" Bo asked, and Rhett smiled, amused.

"The fact that you have spent the last ten years running, looking in all the wrong places for answers, never bothering to learn how to control your powers, is the only thing that needs fixing," Rhett said. "You discovered you got strength from sexual intercourse after being taught by your church-going parents that sex before marriage was wrong. Instead of embracing your true nature and learning how to control it, and take control with it, you've tried to fight and ignore it." Bo stared at her, her dark eyes wary and intrigued at the same time, accusing and distrustful.

"How do you know that about my parents?" she said, icily accusing, her eyes narrowing. "What else do you know?"

"I know what you know," Rhett said, flicking her eyes over Bo's pale face. She knew also that Detectives Dyson and Hale had discovered Bo's kill, that they had already figured out Bo had been protecting a drugged Kenzi, that they had tracked Bo's car…and she knew that the Ashe and the Morrigan both wanted to know who had broken the rules.

"Rhett can read _minds_," Kenzi said, her eyes glowing as she grinned delightedly.

"So what kind of fey are you?" Bo asked coolly, folding her arms over her chest as she sized Rhett up. Kenzi drew in a breath and shook her head, her eyes wide, and she tutted as she swung her legs where she sat on the island, now sipping a _Juicy Juice_ box.

"Asking another fey their species is very intimate in our culture," Rhett said, "almost taboo."

"And why's that?"

"It allows the other person to know your specific weaknesses," Rhett said.

"Rhett's lucky, 'cause she's a freak among freaks," Kenzi said happily, reaching over to pat Rhett's head affectionately.

"I'm neither one species nor another," Rhett said, answering Bo's perplexed look.

"Which means her weaknesses are much harder to identify," Kenzi said, and she gave Rhett an evil grin, "though _I_ know one." Rhett glanced at Bo.

"If you had been brought up in a clan, you would have been taught how to feed without killing. You'd have learned both how to control and how to control using your powers," Rhett said. "If you had embraced your abilities, it would have been far easier for you to learn to control them in the last ten years, but you didn't."

"Kinda hard when I continually wake up next to dead lovers," Bo said.

"You let your hunger grow until it is uncontrollable," Rhett said. Bo gave her a smacked-arse look. "If you had grown up as part of our world, you would not only have learned to control your appetite, but you would also have been taught the rules. And you would have been initiated to either the Light or the Dark fey."

"What do you mean, the Light or Dark?" Bo frowned.

"Millennia ago, the Blood King forged a peace between the warring clans," Rhett said, "uniting all the warring factions of the fey so they couldn't fight themselves into extinction. But the peace created two enduring sides, the Light and the Dark, both of which follow by the rules set down by the Blood King. Every fey who comes of age chooses their allegiances to either Light or Dark, for life."

"Why's that?"

"Survival, for one," Rhett said. "The sides take care of their own. Choosing a side, whichever one, means protection and family, allies. In this day and age, members of the clans are given human occupations, advantageous not only to the individual but to the clan, to the sides Light or Dark."

"So you've got to be owned to be free," Bo said coolly.

"No. Just to continue living. Remaining unaffiliated is incredibly dangerous. It means enemies from both the Light and the Dark, no political safety," Rhett said. "The problem is that you have been left to go about unfettered, unaffiliated, leaving a trail of bodies behind for humans to find. To the Ashe and the Morrigan, you being raised by humans won't matter. You've broken one of the biggest rules."

"Yeah, yeah, don't let humans find out," Bo said dismissively. Rhett gave her a look.

"Do not dismiss the rules so lightly," Rhett said. "They have been in place for millennia and have kept the fey alive and thriving."

"So which side are you, Light or Dark?" Bo asked coolly.

"I am neither," Rhett said.

"I thought you said all fey had to choose," Bo said waspishly, her mouth puckering into an unpleasant line, saying nastily, "Why should I?"

"It's not that I haven't chosen," Rhett said, fixing Bo with a look. "I am not _allowed_ to choose."

"And why's that?" Bo asked coolly.

"I'm too valuable to both sides," Rhett said. "You, though, you don't even know how to feed, how to cover your tracks. You have absolutely no knowledge about the fey world and think like a human. You're a liability to both Light and Dark, and they'll want you to choose to neutralise the threat."

"Choose?" Bo scoffed. "Why the hell would I want to choose?"

"It's not a question of what you want," Rhett said curtly, fixing her eyes on Bo's. "You'll be tested, and you'll choose. You will gain allies and cut your enemies by half; you'll gain safety and the ability to learn about the fey and about yourself."

"That's if I don't skip town," Bo said frostily. "And I will."

Rhett smirked. "D'you think there are fey only here in this city? Every district, every parcel of land, every community, every nation in the world is divided between the Light fey and the Dark. Humans exist symbiotically with them without knowing it. There is no moving on. And with your inability to control yourself while feeding, your kills will lead a trail straight to you wherever you go, even if fey trackers aren't hired to find you."

"Not to mention, you drive a bright bumblebee car," Kenzi pointed out. Rhett handed Kenzi her boots, plucking her slippers off her little feet, and Kenzi pouted as she tugged the cool leather boots back on.

"What're we doing now?" Bo asked, as Kenzi zipped up her boots and shoved a cookie in her mouth, hopping off the island and staggering almost into the sink.

"We're going for a drink," Rhett said, pulling her coat on again.

"Cool. It's five o'clock somewhere," Kenzi said excitedly.

"Where are we going?" Bo asked.

"To the way-station," Rhett said. "The Dal Riata. It's one of the only all-fey bars in the city, and neutral territory. You'll meet the Ashe and the Morrigan."

"The what?"

"The local leaders of the Light and Dark Fey," Rhett said. "They're at the human equivalent of the position of mayor within any claimed territory. The Dark Fey leaders are named for dead warriors. The Light Fey, for trees."

"Bunch of hippies," Kenzi chuckled.

"Bunch of hippies who like sacrificing little girls," Rhett said, glancing at Kenzi, whose jaw fell open.

"You're going to try and sacrifice me, aren't you? You're totally gonna virgin-sacrifice me!" she gasped, horrified. Rhett smirked.

"_Virgin_ sacrifice?" she said. "You forget, I've brought you vodka and ice-cream every time you've broken up with a boyfriend. And we've only known each other a year."

"Has it really only been a _year_?" Kenzi blurted, looking mortified. Rhett gave her a look, and Kenzi pealed into giggles.

"Just try not to steal anything," Rhett said, and Kenzi gave her a look that said quite plainly she would _try_. "And you," Rhett said, glancing at Bo and taking in her outfit, frowning in distaste. "Keep a polite tongue, or lose it." As Kenzi stuck hers out, Rhett touched Bo's shoulder and Kenzi's arm, and traced them to the nondescript door to the _Dal_ _Riata_.

Bo collapsed once more, staggering against the side of the building, and Kenzi giggled as Rhett tutted and grabbed Bo's arm, tugging her upright to grab hold of her hips and swing Bo over her shoulder. Kenzi grabbed the door and her heels clattered on the wooden staircase as they climbed up to the bar. Rhett grabbed the back of Kenzi's jacket, and Kenzi turned, smiling at her; Rhett plucked the gold pendant from the collection draped around Kenzi's throat and made sure it was on full view, before indicating she should continue into the bar.

"Cool. Montagues and Capulets coming together!" Kenzi said, noticing the two parties gathered in different sections of the bar, Trick standing in no man's land behind the bar, Dyson sipping a coffee, Rhett's teacup still steaming gently nearby. On one side, the Morrigan, dark-haired and svelte, a cigarette trailing acrid smoke from the end of its holder, sided by two leather-gloved henchmen. On the other side, the Ashe, dressed impeccably in a cream cotton suit and sage-green silk shirt, accompanied by the dark-skinned siren, Hale, and a blonde, large-eyed human female Rhett had seen numerous times. Lauren Lewis, a doctor and scientist owned by the Ashe.

Dolls weren't the only things Rhett avoided by design. Anyone in a white lab coat, she had an irrational terror and distrust of, and for the life of her, Rhett didn't know why. The doctor had taken off her lab-coat, but she still carried a briefcase, and Rhett could feel the interest and curiosity emanating from her without needing to read her mind.

"Ah, the guest of honour has arrived," the Morrigan said, turning elegantly to examine the bundle Rhett had draped over her shoulder. She carefully dropped Bo into a seat in the no man's land zone and the succubus groaned as her head fell into her hands.

"I apologise for keeping you waiting," Rhett said gently, and the Morrigan swept her dark, keen eyes over Rhett, while Kenzi bounded over to the bar. Rhett saw Trick's eyes hone directly onto the golden pendant.

"Lay some giggle juice on me, lover!" Kenzi said happily, holding her hands out to Trick, who raised his eyebrows at her.

"Kenzi, pull back, baby," Rhett said softly, and Kenzi grinned as she hopped onto the bar-stool beside Dyson.

"You said I could have a drink!"

"It's enough that I let you sit at the big-girls' table," Rhett smiled teasingly.

"So, this is the non-local who dumped her kill improperly," the Ashe said, in his slow voice, as Kenzi skittered across no man's land with a glass of water for Bo.

"This is she," Rhett said. "A succubus."

"Ooh, a new player in town," the Morrigan smiled sanguinely. "How lovely."

"What is your clan, succubus?" the Ashe asked Bo, his gaze stern and penetrating.

"She has none," Rhett said, speaking for Bo while the latter sipped her water, looking decidedly green from tracing. Rhett glanced at the Ashe. "Have your human examine her, but you'll find no marks of allegiance."

"Is she Light or Dark?" the Morrigan asked her, scanning Bo's body.

"I'm neither," Bo spoke up thickly, with an angry undercurrent in her tone, more accusing than explanatory. Rhett gave her a look.

"She's more ignorant than my human," Rhett said.

"Hey!" Kenzi pouted.

"That was a compliment, schvibzig," Rhett smiled warmly, and Kenzi's expression cleared up delightedly. She addressed the Morrigan and the Ashe. "The succubus was raised by humans. She had no idea what she was until I told her a moment ago."

"Lauren," the Ashe said, barely inclining his head toward the blonde human, and the doctor nodded and stepped forward, gazing earnestly into Bo's face.

"You can use my quarters," Trick said, gesturing welcomingly to the blonde doctor.

"For what?" Bo snapped. Rhett shot her a warning look.

"They need to examine you for proof you have no allegiance," she explained quietly. "Go with the lady." Bo gave Rhett a glare, before Rhett nodded her toward the blonde, and Dr Lewis carried her briefcase as Bo followed Trick downstairs.

"You and I need to talk," the Ashe said to the Morrigan, who was watching Bo go with a distinctly disgruntled look. The Morrigan didn't nod or make any indication of acknowledgement, just strolled to the small chamber off the main hall, disappearing behind the scrolling iron-guarded glass doors. The icy atmosphere didn't dissipate when the two leaders disappeared; if anything, without their leaders to measure the animosity between them, the Morrigan's guards and the two detectives glared at each other distrustfully.

As Trick returned, Rhett slid onto a bar-stool, drawing her tea toward her, and she noticed both Dyson and Trick staring at the beautiful little gold pendant draped around Kenzi's neck. It was barely larger than a dime, but it had been wrought by dwarves, incredibly intricate and beautiful, platinum and rose-gold threaded with the gold, decorated with the tiniest black diamond inset with an ancient rune in platinum. The priceless talisman had been the prize offered during Rhett's first Hie; Kenzi had no idea of its true worth.

"This human is with you?" Dyson said quietly, glancing at Rhett, who nodded.

"This is Kenzi," she said. "Kenzi, this is Dyson, and…" She glanced at Trick. She knew his name, of course—all of them—but had never been formally introduced.

"Trick," he smiled.

"This is Hale," Dyson said, introducing his partner.

"I know you," Hale said, frowning bemusedly at Kenzi. "Didn't I pick you up on shoplifting _years_ ago?"

"Meh, I don't remember all my po-po escorts," Kenzi said, waving her hand negligently, clicking on her phone quickly.

"What are you doing?" Rhett asked curiously.

"Uh…just, y'know, checking for any texts," she shrugged.

"You're texting Geoffrey, aren't you," Rhett frowned disapprovingly, taking her cell-phone away.

"I—no, I wasn't! I was just checking to see if he'd texted me," Kenzi said, reaching for her phone, which Rhett kept out of her reach.

"He hurt you once, and if you let him hurt you a second time, I will filet the both of you and feed you to my minotaur friend," Rhett threatened.

"Ha!" Kenzi blurted, smirking. "He's on a diet. No snacks. And he says I'm barely more than a morsel."

"Well, that's true. Anyway, I thought you were going on a date tonight," Rhett said, glancing at Kenzi. "With that, um, bartender with the dreadlocks."

"And the sleeves," Kenzi said, raising her eyebrows. "Do not forget that gorgeous ink! And yes, we're going out tonight."

"Maybe you can get him to tattoo your name on his ass. So why are you mooning over Geoffrey?" Rhett asked, frowning bemusedly.

"Because I'm still waiting for him to gravel at my feet begging for forgiveness," Kenzi said.

"_Grovel_ at your feet," Rhett corrected softly, as Dyson chuckled.

"That too," Kenzi said. "Now gimme back my cell-phone or I'll go Yakuza on your ass."

"Try," Rhett smirked, as Kenzi drew up her palms in judo-chop style, slashing playfully. Rhett smiled as Kenzi teasingly judo-chopped her, trying to annoy her so much that she would get a reaction out of Rhett. For nearly a year, Kenzi had tried to get Rhett to lose her temper, and laugh aloud.

The door to the little ante-chamber opened and the Morrigan appeared, the door held open politely by the Ashe for her, and the two looked like they were trying to conceal their excitement, both smiling in a self-satisfied, expectant sort of way.

"The succubus cannot be allowed to continue to live between our two sides," the Ashe said softly.

"We're going to give her the test," the Morrigan smirked delightedly.

"The old way," the Ashe added slowly, and Rhett glanced up, setting her teacup down. Everyone in the room stood up a little straighter, eyes widening with delighted incredulity. Everyone except Dyson, whose thoughtful frown deepened, and Trick, whose expression remained neutral. Kenzi tugged on Rhett's sleeve.

"What test?" she whispered. "What old way?"

"I'll explain later," Rhett said quietly, her eyes on the Morrigan and the Ashe. Addressing them, she said, "When?" The Ashe exchanged a glance with the Morrigan, and quickly scanning both minds, she read their apprehension over her being in the city, whether her presence meant she was there to stir up trouble or assassinate anyone, and both seemed united in not wanting to piss her off.

"This afternoon," the Ashe said, and the Morrigan nodded serenely.

"It will allow us time to inform our Elders," she said. Kenzi scoffed softly.

"Think up a less-skanky outfit, more like," she murmured, and Rhett reached out to flick her ear softly. Rubbing the side of her head, Kenzi pouted at her.

"Are we right to assume you speak for the succubus?" the Ashe asked.

"I speak for myself and for my human. Until the succubus has chosen her side I will make sure no harm comes to her from either side," Rhett said delicately.

"If it pleases you, Dyson will keep tabs on the succubus," the Ashe said, and Rhett glanced up, fixing the Ashe in the eyes, then glanced at Dyson, who had nodded to himself, accepting his orders.

"You can observe her training," she said quietly, and Dyson nodded.

"Training for what?" Bo had reappeared, tugging on her jacket as Dr Lewis followed her upstairs, looking a little flushed. She was embarrassed, Rhett could see it in her downcast eyes even without reading her mind, and she handed the Ashe a clipboard on which several notes were neatly documented.

"This afternoon you will be given the test," the Ashe said.

"And I thought today would be boring," the Morrigan said, snapping her satin-gloved fingers to her guards, who sided her as she strolled to the stairs out. The Ashe motioned to the doctor, who blushed as she strode past Bo, and the Ashe's bodyguard followed him out. Only Detective Hale, Trick, Dyson and Rhett and Kenzi were left with Bo, who looked surly.

"We'd better get back," Hale said, catching Dyson's arm.

"You go ahead," Dyson said. "My detail starts now." Hale shot a grin at Rhett and handed Trick some money to pay for his own tea, frowning subtly for a brief second at the pendant draped around Kenzi's neck, and Kenzi sighed, "I'm _hungry_."

"Come, we can train Bo at home," Rhett said, standing up. She pulled a few dollar bills out of her coat pocket and smiled at Trick. "Thank you for the tea."

"You're welcome," Trick said, smiling. Rhett glanced at Kenzi, who was pilfering from behind the bar; taking the dusty bottle from her hands and placing it back behind the bar, Trick frowned bemusedly at Kenzi as Rhett tugged her off her bar-stool.

"Come on," she said, offering her hand to Bo.

"No way, you are _not_ doing that to me again," Bo said, moving away from her. Kenzi glanced up at Rhett.

"Lightweight," she sniffed, and Bo shot her a glare.

"And how do you propose getting to my building?" Rhett asked.

"The traditional way," Bo sniped, "_drive_."

"And how are you going to find your car?" Kenzi prompted. Bo's cheeks went hollow as she glared at Kenzi. Kenzi sighed heavily, grabbing hold of Rhett's sleeve, and tugged her toward the door, muttering. "Come on. I know that look. My cousin uses it every time she's about to throw a tantrum. Trust me, you don't wanna have your face death-sucked by an evil vacuum." Rhett smiled as Kenzi tugged her outside, followed by the succubus and Dyson, who didn't relax as he followed.

"Where the hell are we?" Bo snarled irritably, and Dyson stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket and strode on. Rhett put her hands in her own pockets, hunching her shoulders against the wind funnelled down the alley, and when they broke out onto the street, it was to a well-travelled, clean area of the city, lined with nice restaurants, bars, shops and cafés, the entrance to a huge indoor market, second-hand bookstores and record shops.

"Okay, you know how much I love you, right," Kenzi said quietly, Bo stomping along angrily behind them, as Kenzi linked her arm around Rhett's tiny waist, "and you know I totally support you in all of your adventures and entrepreneurial-ness."

"I know this," Rhett smiled softly.

"Good. And I just want you to know, I didn't understand why you stalked this cop before," Kenzi said, her eyes on Dyson's back as he strode along the salted street, "but I _totally_ get it now. Just look at that juicy ass. I mean, you hear the term 'bounce a nickel off it'…" Rhett grinned, shaking her head, as Dyson glanced over his shoulder, giving Kenzi a very arch look, and Kenzi stumbled, choking on her own laugh as she blushed. Rhett steadied her, before she could break her neck or ankles skidding on a patch of ice, and Kenzi whispered, "Dude, is that one of his fey powers, supersonic hearing?"

"I think he was just paying attention," Rhett said softly, "Kenzi, why did you wear those boots, you know you nearly broke your ankle wearing them last week."

"Why must your beauty bring such pain?" Kenzi sighed, gazing down at her toes. She glanced up at Rhett, giving her a smile that Rhett knew well. "Piggyback?" Rhett sighed, and smiled, and Kenzi grinned and clapped her hands as Rhett turned, squatting briefly so Kenzi could jump on her. Hooking her arms under Kenzi's knees, she hoisted Kenzi into a more comfortable position on her back, Kenzi clinging her arms around Rhett's neck, pressing her cool cheek to Rhett's.

"You're cheek is so warm," Kenzi hummed delightedly, and Rhett smiled as she strode on, barely concerned by the extra weight. Her first and longest adventure was brought to mind, carrying a pack that easily had weighed twice as much as Kenzi did. Kenzi was barely ninety-five pounds, and fifty percent of that was double-stuffed extra-pepperoni pizza crusts and high heeled boots.

"So, I was thinking," Kenzi said, as Rhett carried her along the street, following Dyson's scrumptious jeans-clad ass.

"Don't do that," Rhett said quietly.

"I preferred it when you had no sense of humour," Kenzi sniffed, and Rhett smiled to herself. "Anyway, I was thinking, maybe we could hit the beach sometime soon, let our pearly skin soak up some golden rays."

"Sounds good actually," Rhett said quietly. "We've got Sin to Win in a few weeks, too."

"And I am _beside myself_ about it!" Kenzi exclaimed giddily, squirming, and Rhett hoisted her higher on her back.

"Ready to have your world rocked again?" Rhett smiled.

"Babe, I'm barely over the last time," Kenzi sighed reminiscently.

"Lightweight," Rhett murmured, and Kenzi playfully poked at her face; Rhett threatened to drop her, and Kenzi desisted, giggling.

"Hey, can you pick up the pace a bit?" Kenzi said, suddenly businesslike. "The cop with the great caboose is outpacing you."

"I'm in no hurry," Rhett said, her eyes still fixed on Dyson's back. "Is the reluctant succubus still tagging along behind us?" Kenzi squirmed, and hummed in confirmation. "Yup." The walk didn't take long; in no time Dyson had led them straight back to what Kenzi had dubbed Bo's yellow "bumblebee" car. He leaned his slim hip against it, arms crossed casually over his chest, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his eyes more than his lips as he watched Rhett strolling along with Kenzi latched onto her back like a little child.

"Okay, my little Kiki-koala," Rhett smiled, "off you get."

"Do I really gotta?" Kenzi pouted, and Rhett unhooked her arms from under Kenzi's knees; Kenzi's crossed wrists briefly choked her before Kenzi relinquished her hold and fidgeted on the spot as she drew her purple corduroy mini-skirt down. Bo came stomping into view, scowling, her expression darkening even more as she glimpsed Dyson leaning against her rather rundown car.

"Dude, hurry up and get the heaters on!" Kenzi said, shivering, as Bo brought out her car-keys and unlocked the driver's door. Kenzi dived for the car, tugging the passenger-door open and throwing herself into the seat.

"Uh, Kenzi?" Rhett said softly, raising her eyebrows pointedly, but Kenzi was shivering and breathing into her clasped hands, pointedly ignoring her, so Rhett grabbed hold of the passenger seat and pushed it forward, Kenzi being squashed noisily within it, and climbed into the backseat.

"Guess that means I'm in back with you," Dyson grunted, folding his long legs up as he climbed in beside Rhett.

"With Kenzi it's beauty before age," Rhett said, reaching out to flick Kenzi's ear playfully. "Isn't that right."

"Dude, if it was beauty before age or age before beauty, you'd win either way," Kenzi said, rifling through the contents of Bo's glove-compartment, and Rhett smiled subtly, shaking her head. "It's human before fey, actually." Dyson glanced covertly at Rhett as Bo threw herself into the driver's seat, cramping Rhett's knees, and started up the engine.

"Where am I heading?" Bo asked tersely.

"Kenzi, you're up," Rhett said, leaning her cheek against her hand, her elbow against the armrest, her breath evaporating in a subtle mist in the cold.

"You don't know the way to your own apartment?" Bo asked tersely.

"I have my own means of transportation," Rhett said quietly.

"Yeah, but since you get travel-sickness, we gotta go the human way," Kenzi said. "Rhett doesn't even know how to drive. You should see her try to shift into first-gear."

"I don't need to know how to drive a car to make you live in one, little girl," Rhett said gently, and Dyson chuckled softly as Kenzi gasped in horrified incredulity, whirling and crawling around in her seat, gazing with wide, pale-green eyes.

"What?" Rhett smiled lazily at her.

"You'd make me live out of a car?"

"They're not the worst," Rhett said quietly, glancing out of the window as Kenzi jerked the steering-wheel so Bo would take a left at the crossroad.

"Hey, don't do that," Bo frowned.

"You know, you're supposed to have your seatbelt on," Dyson said quietly, watching Kenzi fidget and squirm in the passenger-seat, annoying Bo and fiddling with the radio while she snacked on the candy she had found in the glove-compartment.

"What are you, a cop, gonna narc on me?" Kenzi remarked idly. Dyson grunted softly as he raised his hips off his seat to access his belt, from which he unclipped a police-badge and reached between the two front seats to show Kenzi, who gasped, seizing it, and turned slowly to stare at Dyson over the top of the chair. "I _knew_ I smelled po-po! Ugh!"

With Kenzi jerking the wheel every time she wanted Bo to take a turn, they made it to a very wealthy part of the city, where the streets were wider and neatly paved, lush wintry evergreen plants frosted over in flowerbeds; among the tall penthouse buildings, the large park burned with reds and vibrant oranges, and Kenzi directed Bo to the building's garage.

"Nice building," Dyson said quietly, warm eyes lingering on the doorman in a uniform, the warm marble foyer beyond.

"Rhett owns it!" Kenzi beamed proudly; she bounded up to the doorman, speaking in fluent and chipper Russian, laughing briefly before slipping him a ten and darting inside when he opened the door. Kenzi said, striding over to the concierge service, where she checked for any messages or mail, and handed Rhett a wedge of post after grabbing a few glossy magazines and a thin Amazon parcel. "This isn't mine," she said, handing Rhett the Amazon delivery, and Rhett tucked the post under her arm as they entered the elevator, tearing the strip across the top of the parcel, Kenzi jabbing frenetically at the button for their floor.

"You'll break that," Rhett said idly, not looking up, as she took her new CDs out of the thin cardboard packet.

"I'd rather _not_ be trapped in an elevator," Bo said huffily, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. '_With you_' wasn't spoken aloud but it hung on the air.

"Yeah, I'd rather play the Elevator Game with Gerard Butler and Jungle Jeeves," Kenzi said thoughtfully, and Rhett smiled.

"You have the oddest taste in men," she said quietly.

"Hey, none of _my_ exes have horns," Kenzi pointed out, and Rhett smirked subtly as she glanced up, catching Dyson's eye.

"Horns, really?" he smirked playfully. She shrugged nonchalantly, and Kenzi laughed as she spilled out of the elevator. Rhett traced into her penthouse to unlock the door and slide the chains across, tugging the heavy door open to Kenzi, Dyson and Bo. The latter two blinked at her, wide-eyed, Dyson glancing over his shoulder where Rhett had been a second before. Kenzi hopped inside, tugging off her boots, tossing them under the strange but lovely chaise carved from deep gold, polished wood, on which Bo tossed her duffel bag, and strolling into the main room, Kenzi jumped over the table running the length of the back of the nearest sofa, knocking over a photograph-frame and displacing a stack of art books, bouncing onto the sofa and grabbing her _Mojo_ _Collection_: _The_ _Ultimate_ _Music_ _Companion_ book, which she had been slowly making her way through, while encouraging Rhett to purchase the records to complete the ultimate music collection. Rhett tugged her coat off, striding to the cupboard under the stairs, and, hanging up her coat, she brought out several folds of blue padded mat.

"Oh, no way, dude, you are _not_ making me spar again," Kenzi groaned. "I'm barely healed from last time."

"You are a chicken-armed wimp," Rhett said, leaning the mats against the glass banister, "but you're safe for this afternoon." She strode over to the unoccupied sofa and tugging the table behind it to the panorama of windows. Dyson helped move the ottomans and armchairs out of the way, and glancing pointedly at Kenzi, sprawled on the second sofa with a box of _Goldfish_ and one of Rhett's homemade chocolate cupcakes, her tatty-stickered headphones jammed over her ears.

"Sometimes it's better to work _around_ Kenzi," Rhett said, taking hold of one end of the sofa, and Dyson raised his eyebrow as he stooped to grab hold of the other end; Kenzi blurted a soft yelp as she was jolted onto her back, and they deposited the sofa against the wall. Tugging off her boots and thick socks, Rhett motioned to Bo to do the same, and pulled off her cowl-neck grey sweater to reveal a formfitting grey vest beneath, tossing her sweater onto Kenzi, making her yelp and fight against the attack, groaning as she fell with a bang from the sofa. Rhett brought the mat over and unfolded it after Dyson moved the coffee-table out of the way.

Rhett had enjoyed teaching Kenzi how to fight. Fighting was such an inherent part of who Rhett was, as a mercenary, an adventuress, and she was a lethally-skilled warrior, schooled in several different arts of war. She had taught Kenzi how to fight properly, to defend herself and to attack in the most effective ways, and having found Rhett's incredibly beautiful falchion sword, forged by dwarves, Kenzi had asked to be tutored in swordsmanship. She still had a long way to go, but she had a huge heart and little fear, which made for a wonderful student.

Bo had never had any formal training in fighting. Whereas Rhett had appeared in the French Quarter with a brain full of bare-knuckle, single-stick, full-contact mixed martial arts, swordsmanship, ballet and combat archery skills, with no idea of how she knew them. The trouble with Bo was that she believed herself invincible due to her succubus traits. Having never encountered a fey before, she had no idea that her skills wouldn't work the same on them as on humans, so it was Rhett's first lesson to Bo to forget about her succubus traits, "because you don't know how to take control with them," Rhett said. "You'll face two under-fey, very old, very powerful, and they will have learned centuries ago how to utilise their powers, especially in a fight."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Bo scowled.

"Use your head," Rhett said quietly. "The greatest weapon you have is your intelligence. Defend yourself, observe. Note their behavioural patterns for weaknesses. And remember that nothing in the fey world is as it seems."

They started sparring. Bo had been in underground cage-fights before now, always against humans, always winning, and always drained of her energy, forced to feed to survive, forced to flee. Rhett was much stronger than she looked; and she was quick. When she had covered the basics of defending from and deflecting attacks, Rhett started using her tracing to give Bo a challenge. She was a quick learner, but tentative, and Rhett soon had the measure of her behavioural ticks and weaknesses.

"When you're tested, choose twin blades," Rhett said, after tossing Bo to the ground, dodging Rhett's blade. Bo scowled and scrambled off the mat, her chest heaving, and Kenzi tossed a few bits of popcorn at them from the sofa, where Dyson was sprawled beside her, watching silently.

"Why's that?" Bo panted.

"You make a habit of grabbing at me with your free hand," Rhett said; they had moved on to blades, only little ones. "You'll lose fingers that way."

Dyson's phone rang, and he waved them to stop so he could talk to the Ashe. When he had hung up, he glanced from Rhett to Bo, then back.

"It's time to go," he said quietly. "It's a way to the glass factory."

"Glass factory?" Bo said dismissively.

"Providence Glass Inc., on the waterfront," Dyson said. "It's neutral territory. I'm to deliver you."

"Parole officer?" Bo said curtly. Dyson smirked.

"You could say that," he said, glancing at Rhett. Quickly, Rhett changed out of her vest, into a new pair of jeans and a delicate black blouse with a tiny frilled V-neckline, a custom-tailored black tuxedo jacket and little diamond studs. Bo had quickly changed into another top, but she still wore her faux-leather pants and knee-high boots. Pale-faced with inexpertly-applied low-quality black eyeliner, she didn't look exactly pretty as she scowled by the front-door, waiting for Kenzi to scramble downstairs with a different pair of boots. Dyson was busy on his phone until they reached the garage, where a rusty grey van was running; the back doors opened, and Dyson indicated they should all climb in.

"Gross," Kenzi crinkled her nose, as one of the Ashe's two henchmen slammed the doors on them, leaving them in darkness. Rumbling beneath their feet, being shaken off their precarious perches, the van drew out of the garage, taking them to the glass factory.

"So…this test, it's, like, a gladiatorial battle for acceptance?" Kenzi asked, after she had been thrown out of her seat a second time at a corner.

"Yes. But this way is very archaic," Rhett said quietly. "Nowadays fey teenagers are thrown a party, at which time they'll reveal their choice. Gifts are given, that sort of thing."

"Why couldn't Bo have one of those?" Kenzi asked. Rhett shrugged idly.

"Perhaps as a form of punishment for leaving her kill out for humans to find," Rhett said.

"Can't they just ground her?" Kenzi grumbled, yawning. "God, I'm exhausted."

"You went to bed at nine, got up at noon and had a two p.m. nap yesterday!" Rhett said, shaking her head.

"And last night I was roofied and was almost life-sucked by a randy succubus," Kenzi said. "You know I have a delicate constitution." Rhett smiled fondly, and the van lurched to a stop seconds before the back doors were wrenched open.

"We're here," Dyson said deeply.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.<strong>: God, I hate Christmas. Always being forced to pretend to love the presents your parents gave you, even though you've said for the last two years you would _never_ buy a Kindle, and now I'm angry at them for making me feel obligated to like it because they're expensive and they'll think I'm ungrateful, but I thought I was getting the pair of jeans I actually really need because I only have one pair that fit.

Hope everyone's Christmas/Hanukkah is much more fun than mine's been! Have a safe New Year.


	6. Grit 03

**A.N.**: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed!

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><p><strong>Grit<strong>

_03_

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><p>"The Ashe wants to talk to her first," Dyson said quietly to the blonde. LaRhette. She was so much more relaxed than he had ever imagined. Watching her in the Hie he had been watching some of his wet-dreams come to life, but in actual fact, outside the gladiatorial coliseum, not fighting to the death for magical talismans and artefacts, LaRhette—Rhett, as she had said her odd little human friend Kenzi called her—was probably the most laidback person Dyson had met in a long time.<p>

Maybe it was her accent, the slow, laidback Southern drawl, soft and warm and rich like vintage whisky, but she never seemed to rush. Not when she was giving the human a piggyback-ride to the succubus's car, nor when she had been teaching Bo basic sparring skills. The succubus Bo, in contrast, seemed driven by anger and impatience. Both females were beautiful, Bo playing up her sexuality with dark faux-leather and skin-tight black clothing, but Rhett was timelessly, understatedly elegant, her personal physical beauty brought out by the simplicity of her outfit.

She nodded nonchalantly, seemingly uncaring, and as Dyson led the succubus away, she linked arms idly with her human friend, who nattered away excitedly about the test, asking questions about the various fey making their way into the factory.

Dyson took the succubus by the upper-arm and led her into the factory, to where the Ashe had set out folding chairs for an audience; the leaders of both the Light and the Dark would want an audience with this potential new member, a first and most important attempt to coerce Bo into choosing their sides. The doctor, a human named Lauren Lewis, was standing by the Ashe. Dyson was privy to the machinations of the Ashe, to an extent; he was one of the Ashe's most trusted agents, and he wasn't asked to leave while the Ashe tried to convince an irascible Bo to join the Light—to convince her to forget the fact that two Light fey had been asked to kidnap Bo for him, that it was because of both the Ashe and the Morrigan that Bo was here about to engage in an archaic ceremonial fight for her life. The Morrigan had little better luck, Dyson guessed. She sauntered out of her meeting with Bo looking ill-humoured. Bo's rude indifference to both was a relief but not unexpected; if she was who he and Trick feared she was, her not choosing a side would only be the beginning.

One of the Ashe's guards escorted Bo to the combat ring, which was hung with the silk crests of local clans. The Ashe and the Morrigan had taken their places at the overhead walkway, their colours hanging from beneath their feet, sided by their Elder favourites. Rhett had taken a place nearby, Kenzi beside her, one, golden and relaxed, the other, dark and exuberant, taking in everything, all of the strange fey, the first of Bo's intended opponents, with wide, delighted eyes. As Dyson approached, he took a place nearby, and heard Kenzi exclaim delightedly, "When I found out about the fey, I knew that had to mean that Sasquatch, the Loch Ness monster and Little Miss Piggy all existed, but what the _fey_ is that?"

"You should see the fey Sesame Street," Rhett remarked idly.

"Don't tease!" Kenzi gasped. "_That_ would be awesome... My goodness, I am so _excited_! We should start cheering. I'm great at dirty cheers."

"Turning cheerleader?" Rhett said, glancing at Kenzi.

"Bite your tongue!" Kenzi gasped, horrified.

With a roar, Bo's first opponent slammed his war-hammers on the ground, and the Ashe called, "Enough!" When silence had fallen, Bo approached the empty area, and the applause quieted. "To the death!" The cheering started up again, and Dyson approached Rhett and Kenzi, watching Bo's dark eyes dart around, her lips moving as she murmured to herself, her expression one of disgust as she took in the appearance of the fey before her, in all his fork-tongued glory. Slamming his hammers together, he roared, and as he lurched toward Bo, she dodged backwards, dodging again, and a third time, leaping to roll across the ground and spring back up, twin blades clasped in her hands. Demolishing a partial brick wall, the fey roared as Bo slashed at his forearm with one of her knives. Roaring, he dropped one of his hammers, Bo dancing on the tips of her toes, waiting for his next attack, and as they watched, Kenzi produced a Ziploc bag full of butter popcorn, seemingly mesmerised as she watched Bo dodge and attack, gasping as Bo got caught in the head with the war-hammer. Stumbling backwards, Bo quickly recovered and dodged, grunting as she launched herself at the fey to kick his sternum and dived between his legs as he lunged at her, his hammer raised over his head, scrambling onto her knees to slash at the backs of the fey's legs. Heaving another kick at his torso when he fell to his knees, she jumped atop him where he had fallen, grunting, "_Gross_!" before crossing her blades over his neck and slashing cleanly.

"Go Bo!" Kenzi called enthusiastically. "_Whoo_!" The applause petered out for a little while, everyone a little stunned; Dyson watched carefully, noting the long-fingered hand creeping up Bo's shoulder.

"What the hell is that?" Kenzi whispered, glancing up at Rhett when Dyson glanced over at them.

"A pain-eater," Rhett said quietly, gazing down at the tall, robed creature that cradled Bo's face in his hands, her features relaxed.

"Oh my god," Kenzi grimaced, stuffing popcorn into her mouth, her eyes fixed on Rhett. "I'm too scared even to swear right now! Oh, Bo!" Everyone watched, waiting, anticipating. Kenzi went through nearly the entire bag of popcorn before she choked on a mouthful and threw several pieces of popcorn down below. "Bo, wake up!" Glancing at Bo, Dyson saw her expression had darkened to a frown. "Bo, damn it! Wake up!" Several onlookers made to approach Kenzi, evidently the lone human, but one subtle glance from Rhett and they stayed distant. "Bo, wake up! Wake up! Bo, he's killing you, wake up!" Screaming for Bo, Kenzi distracted the pain-eater and forced Bo's features to darken even more. Dyson saw her eyes open and clear, her rage evident.

"Get out of my head, you freak!" she snarled, and the pain-eater's eerily trailing fingers separated from Bo's face, leaving sparking tendrils, and the under-fey ducked and dodged away from her, its arms raised. For a moment, everyone stood, watching with apprehension. She had defeated her two chosen opponents.

"This one has passed the test," the Ashe said imperiously, glancing at the Morrigan. "It has been witnessed. Child, you may name your side."

"Neither!" Bo shouted, spreading her arms wide, scowling impertinently at the Ashe. "_I_ _choose_ _humans_!" Uproar was raised, as Bo seemed to sway on her feet, and Kenzi was the first to dash down the clattering metal stairs to grab Bo before she could collapse from exhaustion. Dyson had wanted to give her some strength before her test, but there hadn't been time, her talk with the Morrigan running over as she sassed and snarled back.

Approaching Rhett, gently touching her waist, Dyson murmured quietly, "C'mon," and led her down the clattering steps to Kenzi, holding up Bo, who looked very tired.

The van that had brought them to the glass factory was waiting, ready to leave, outside, and Bo climbed into the back before Kenzi and Rhett, Dyson closing the doors after giving his head a little shake, too distracted by the sight of Rhett's jeans sculpted so perfectly to her arse.

"Feel like I've been paroled," Bo said, as she climbed out of the van twenty minutes later, in the garage of Rhett's building.

"You sort of have been," Dyson said quietly, as he gave Rhett a hand out of the back of the van. She gave him a subtle smile—something she did in place of laughing aloud when she was amused by her charismatic human friend, Dyson had noticed—and their palms briefly touched as he handed her out of the van, before she was dusting off the seat of her jeans, and Dyson had to quell the feeling churning in his stomach. And his jeans.

"Any conditions on our release?" Bo asked tersely.

"Your release," Rhett said quietly. Dyson glanced at her before addressing Bo.

"No more evidence for humans to find, no messing in fey business, and no more leaving town," Dyson said, reaching for the van doors. "The Elders want you where they can watch you."

"Well, they don't own me," Bo said coolly. "And I'm not very good at being obedient." Rhett exhaled with a soft, disdainful noise, and Bo glanced at her, glaring. "What?"

"You sound like a spoiled, petulant child. That chip on your shoulder is going to get you killed," she said softly, and Dyson couldn't help but agree.

"Nobody likes a wannabe hard-ass," Kenzi spoke up sagely. And a kid like Kenzi could probably spot a poser in a heartbeat. The name Kenzi rang a bell, and Dyson knew Hale had vaguely recognised the girl's face; Dyson briefly wondered what her record was like. As Bo gave them all disdainful sneers, she turned on her heel and marched to the old "bumblebee" Mustang parked between a Porsche and an Aston Martin, but Dyson reached out and caught Rhett's hand as she turned; she turned back to him, violet-sapphire eyes inquisitive; her fingers curled around his, seemingly unconsciously, as she stepped a little closer.

"She hasn't chosen a side," Dyson said quietly, glancing from Rhett to the Mustang, and Rhett followed his gaze, and back, realisation making her smile subtly, her eyes warm and sparkling even as she gave him a softly disapproving look.

"You're offloading the responsibility of being a toddler succubus's minder onto me?" she said, raising her neat eyebrows. Dyson tried not to smile too widely.

"You're more than capable," he said softly, glancing at her. The LaRhette of the Hie competitions had always been feral and powerful; the Rhett standing before him was warm, understated, quite withdrawn. He had loved listening to the way she spoke with her friend Kenzi, could sense a deep bond as she carried the human piggyback-style to Bo's car, talking about something called "Sin to Win", which only spurred the fatal curiosity of Dyson's wolfish nature.

"I'm not a babysitter," Rhett said softly.

"That much I know," Dyson smiled, sweeping his eyes over Rhett's beautiful face. "I've heard stories about you."

"Mm, but the trick is guessing which are true," Rhett said, smiling teasingly. Her smile faded gently. "Am I to watch over Bo on behalf of the Ashe, or for the Blood King?" Dyson's gut clenched, and his eyes fell sharply on hers, narrowing in distrust.

"How long have you been following me?" he asked curiously, voicing what he had been wondering for nearly the last year. Rhett sighed softly, her eyes never leaving Dyson's face.

"Not nearly long enough to understand how you can sense my presence," she said, a curious lilt to her voice. Her features darkened into a subtle frown as she swept her eyes over his face for a moment.

"Well, we'll have to work on that," Dyson said softly, and something flickered in Rhett's eyes. A smile darted across her luscious mouth. He pulled a business-card out of his pocket and handed it to Rhett. "If any of you need help, you can find me at the 39th Division."

"I know where you work," Rhett said softly, examining the hand-scrawled cell-phone number on the back of the card.

"Well, now you can visit in the flesh," Dyson said softly.

"I would, but you might pick me up on my outstanding warrants… Of which there are many," Rhett said softly, glancing up, and Dyson chuckled as she smiled, turned and walked off, joining Kenzi, who had hung back waiting for her; as Bo's car roared out of the garage, the elevator pinged and the two women disappeared from view. Dyson watched Rhett go, churning things over.

She had been following him for at least a year, since he had first scented her in that double-homicide crime scene in the wealthier of some of the suburbs, and she knew enough that Trick was really the Blood King. But she had never said anything, never made contact. She had wanted to learn how he could scent her? He was a wolf—but something about the way she had said it made Dyson think he was the first being _ever_ to scent her. He wondered how she could remain out of sight and hearing, how he only caught faint traces of her scent, which in themselves were enough to make his heartbeat thump against his chest, blood rushing downwards, until he was nearly shaking with suppressed desire.

There were some things about being a lone wolf Dyson didn't like, but he wouldn't go back to pledging allegiance to self-serving kings, devoting his entire existence to war. He had done that for centuries. Though he was overworked and tired now, working for both the human cops and the Ashe, keeping Trick's counsel, he at least had reprieves from continuous violence. The thing he didn't like about being a lone wolf; he didn't know everything about his kind, only what he had experienced, watching what his pack-mates had experienced. Why did he feel so strong a connection to this well-dressed and feral assassin?

* * *

><p>"I'm not crazy, right?" Kenzi said, leaning against the side of the elevator.<p>

"Eccentric," Rhett shrugged, pressing the button for their floor, and Kenzi reached out and playfully flicked Rhett's ear.

"I mean, all of that just happened, yeah?" Kenzi prompted.

"Yes," Rhett nodded.

"Where'd Bo go?" Kenzi asked.

"Hopefully she's not running," Rhett said. "She'll just get into more trouble. Not all regions have leaders as lenient as this county's Ashe. The Dark by rule are not lenient in any way."

"She might've gone back to her crack-shack," Kenzi said thoughtfully.

"Is that where she took you last night?" Rhett asked.

"Yeah. God, I'm starving," Kenzi moaned.

"Where are you going on your date?" Rhett asked.

"Bowling."

"Bowling? But you hate wearing other peoples' shoes," Rhett said, glancing at Kenzi. "I suppose you've _borrowed_ a pair of bowling-shoes for your own."

"Absolutely," Kenzi grimaced. "Anyway, this bowling alley has the best pizza in the neighbourhood."

"Ah," Rhett smiled knowingly; Kenzi had been having a lusty love-affair with melted cheese for years.

"What're you gonna do tonight?" Kenzi asked. "I didn't know you'd be coming back today, so…"

"I've got some new CDs to listen to," Rhett shrugged subtly.

"Cool, you're gonna get sloshed on your own and listen to music," Kenzi nodded. "Always a classic choice. You're not gonna get high, are you?"

"Without you?" Rhett said, glancing wide-eyed at Kenzi, who beamed.

"That's okay, then," she said, placated and smiling. "Oh, hey, we have to play the _Dazed and Confused_ drinking-game sometime."

"_Dazed_ _and_ _Confused_. Led Zeppelin?"

"No, the movie. Have you seen it?"

"The movie? I saw it in the theatre," Rhett said. "A long time ago." A very long time ago. She bit her lip thoughtfully, her eyes not seeing the elevator doors as she went back in her memory to the year she was about fifteen, sneaking into the landmark-status drive-in movie theatre near the bayou, one of her favourite places in NOLA, the humidity embracing her, smoking a fat joint and drinking bourbon. She hadn't changed much, except for the pot. Kenzi didn't know that, of course. Rhett made it a habit of not telling people anything about her life. And before Kenzi, who would she have told? She was far more interested in Kenzi—eccentric, wonderful Kenzi—and her life. Rhett would exist forever; but Kenzi knew how to _live_, and she had made it her life's work to teach Rhett how to.

Thing was, Rhett already knew how to. But a lot of things had happened to make her step away from that, to turn her into the introverted, understated woman she was now. She hadn't been so very different from Kenzi once upon a time. In fact, Rhett would say she had been worse, in the best ways.

Darting into the penthouse, Kenzi grabbed her _Mojo_ book again and raided the kitchen cupboards, before darting upstairs to grab the large black rolling makeup case Rhett had given her last year for her birthday, chock full of expensive cosmetics and Kenzi's favourite perfume samples, not to mention a growing collection of nail-polishes of every hue. Kenzi liked to paint her toenails a different colour every few hours, to keep from getting bored, and during their closest heart-to-hearts, they would bring out the ice-cream, raw cookie-dough, sauces and liqueurs, magazines, violent video-games, their hand-blown bongs, the alcohol, their favourite iPod playlists and the collection of nail-polishes.

The differences between their heart-to-hearts and Kenzi's coping methods for getting over romantic rejection were of course that the latter included destroying abandoned cars and partially-demolished buildings, dancing around the living-room in loose vests and their ex-boyfriends' boxers with tumblers of alcohol, getting all dressed up to "pull" in the clubs. Usually this all ended with Rhett holding Kenzi's hair away from her face in the bathroom, a few stolen bottles of alcohol stuffed down their tops, staggering back home with a gooey cheese pizza loaded with extra pepperoni on one half, peppers and red-onion on the other, draining a giant bottle of soda before passing out on the sofas.

Rhett had put a large, homemade cheddar- and parmesan-encrusted lasagne in the oven by the time Kenzi came downstairs, wearing her hoochie black mini-dress with a pair of very sheer mini-fishnets topped with teasing bands of leopard-print, flashing from the hem of her dress; she wore an asymmetric raw-hemmed crimson jacket over the top, a beautifully studded belt wrapped numerous times around her slender waist, and a pair of custom-designed ankle-boots Rhett had commissioned her for Christmas, which Rhett had unfortunately had to miss due to a job.

"Face," Kenzi said, lugging her wheeled makeup case over to Rhett, who was curled up on the sofa, going through the booklets for her new CDs and already on the bourbon.

"I like it," Rhett said, glancing up at Kenzi. "I like how it comes right out of the top of your jacket like that."

"Hilarious," Kenzi guffawed playfully, moving aside the lump of Rhett's blanket to plonk herself down on the sofa, smoothing her hair over her shoulders, revealing a face flawless with subtle concealer and foundation. "You know, in another life, you would've made a great celebrity makeup artist."

"Well, I used to do face-painting," Rhett said idly. "Do you want a butterfly or a tiger?" Kenzi gave her a look.

"So, you were a carny, huh? That explains everything," Kenzi said, and Rhett smiled

"I wish," she said softly, as she applied Kenzi's makeup expertly. Smoky but not skanky, her lips brought out beautifully, cheeks lightly illuminated; Kenzi ran her fingers through her hair with a tiny dab of product on her fingertips, tucked a twenty into the pocket of her jacket with a condom and a tube of lip-gloss, told Rhett not to wait up and left the penthouse.

It was always so much quieter without Kenzi around.

While Rhett loved Kenzi more than a daughter she would probably never have, there were times when her exuberance had Rhett retreating to her haven in New Orleans, where no-one but Torin had ever been invited into. That one-bedroom apartment built out of an old brick antebellum mansion had survived untouched by the storm, and it had long been Rhett's safe Eden of recuperation and reclusion, where she could drink herself into oblivion listening to her favourite music, and when she wasn't so tanked could read the books that lined most of the beautiful redbrick walls.

There were times in the last few months where the New Orleans apartment had been wanting. She had found herself wanting to play video-games and chew gum with Kenzi, decapitating enemy ninjas and having competitions to see who could blow the biggest gum bubble. It was strange that she missed things, now, when she wasn't at home. When she was travelling, she missed her midnight chats with Kenzi, the bony little girl climbing into bed with her with a bowl of cereal and freshly-painted toenails, wanting Rhett's opinion on the colour of her clip-in extensions; ordering a pizza was now not only for sustenance but had become almost ceremonial. With the beautiful drum-kit Kenzi had moved into her bedroom, Rhett formed the strings with her lifelong obsession over the banjo and the guitar, the piano, and they played their favourite songs together, Kenzi surprised a _Hermés_-wearer would know the music to punk and classic rock songs.

Having only once before and punishingly fleetingly known what it was like to come home and be greeted by someone eager to see her and appreciative of her return home, it was strange and lovely to arrive back in this penthouse, usually unannounced, and have Kenzi squeal with delight and throw herself at Rhett for a hug. Hugs were foreign to her. Close physical contact had been alien to her for longer than she had ever admitted to Kenzi.

It was a mark of Rhett's personality that she could spend weeks on lethally-dangerous, high-profile and top-secret mercenary jobs, and come home to play violent video-games slaying enemies with broad-swords. Several new video-games had been released, all of which Kenzi had _acquired_, and Rhett sat in the den, surrounded by _stuff_ Kenzi insisted was necessary for Rhett's education on human culture, a dish of lasagne and a grape popsicle demolished before she started going through a bottle of her favourite bourbon. Playing video-games a little bit sloshed always made them that much more fun, she just wished Kenzi was home to play with her. She had the stereo on, playing her new CDs, and when she had tired of _Skyrim_, Rhett turned off the television, dimmed the lights, and sat listening to _Florence_ + _The_ _Machine's_ album "Ceremonials".

The music hit so many notes with Rhett, by the time the den door swung open and Kenzi kicked her ankle-boots off in the direction of one of the bookcases stuffed with DVDs and video-games, Rhett was morbidly depressed and achingly lonely, her eyes burning and filled with tears, a glass of bourbon resting in her hand, curled up on the sofa under a heavy cream blanket, just remembering. Two songs in particular had brought back memories of Torin, of what she had loved, what she had lost irreplaceably, the death of the old LaRhette.

There were times when Kenzi had witnessed her like this, but most of the time Rhett secluded herself in New Orleans with a few bottles of bourbon, the music Torin had listened to, and cried until her entire body hurt. Kenzi disappeared briefly, coming back with a bucket of cookie-dough ice-cream, a bottle of _Snow Queen Vodka_, wrapped up in her favourite pyjamas and her fluffy purple slippers, curling up close to Rhett, her head resting on Rhett's arm. She had asked Rhett before now what was wrong, could she do anything, how could she fix it, but now she knew…there was no fixing it, little she could do to ease it, and Rhett had never told her why she fell into self-destructive chasms of depression and loneliness.

Kenzi was the first being, human, fey or otherwise, to ever see Rhett like this, to be concerned, and to be there, when the bender was over, with coffee and a pair of sunglasses. She was the first person who _worried_ when Rhett fell into these moods. Rhett didn't lose her temper, she hadn't laughed aloud for a very long time; to the outside world she had a very level head on her shoulders. But she could cry.

And she had every reason to.

But just as she was no longer good at enjoying herself, she had never been able to express herself very well. Only one person had been able to bring that out in her. Kenzi now came close, and Torin would have adored her, that much Rhett knew. There were other things Rhett knew Torin would have loved and wanted for her, but for the life of her Rhett couldn't do it.

Rhett had heard of a specific race that could alone of all the immortal fey die of sorrow, and when Torin had gone away, she had wept to be one of the Valkyrie, that she had that strength, that she could follow him.

_Florence_ + _The_ _Machine's_ "Never Let Me Go" played again, the CD playing for a second time on a loop, and Kenzi crawled up behind Rhett, looping an arm over her waist, tucking her chin by Rhett's neck, leaning in to give Rhett's cheek a kiss.

"Rhett," she murmured softly, and Rhett stifled a sob, her eyes streaming, and wiped the back of her wrist across her eyes, swallowing a mouthful of bourbon.

"Mm?" she panted softly, heaving a sigh as fresh tears coursed down her sore cheeks. She heard Kenzi's heartbeat as the song quietened, heard her little sigh, and she turned onto her back, peeking at Kenzi. She had removed her makeup, her hair tugged into a loose, lopsided ponytail. She had nestled her head on her arm, large pale eyes gazing over Rhett's face.

"Is it a guy?" Kenzi asked softly, glancing tentatively at Rhett. "When you get like this…are you remembering a guy?" Kenzi must have been thinking a lot about this, why Rhett succumbed to bouts of bourbon-driven depression like this. Rhett never lied to her. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears spilling, tickling her skin, and she nodded, panting breathlessly.

"He went where even I can't follow," she gasped softly, burning tears leaking from her eyes. Kenzi hugged her waist a little tighter, curling up close. Kenzi's friendship and nearness was like balm for her soul, soothing and healing. She could calm Rhett from these moods and encouraged eccentricity, and her hugs were more emotionally healing than electrocution was physically for Rhett. For a little while, they remained curled up together on the sofa, Rhett calmed from her grief by Kenzi, who had been in a rage before noticing Rhett the way she had been. Rhett turned on her side, facing Kenzi, who looked tired and sleepy and very adorable.

"How was your date?" she asked softly.

"Apparently the dude's _wife_ didn't think it was a good idea that we go out," Kenzi said, and Rhett managed to raise her eyebrows in surprise. "But then I ran into Geoff, and he apologised. _Twice_." Rhett peeked at Kenzi's self-satisfied smirk and shivered.

"That's _disgusting_!" she exclaimed, and Kenzi giggled softly.

"Yeah, well, afterwards, his new flame showed up at his place," Kenzi sighed. "When the insults started flying like coffee-cups, I got outta there quick-like... Why are all guys such dicks?" It was a long time before Rhett answered, withdrawn to her favourite memories, the best years of her life. It was a terrible thing to know, that the best years of her life had passed her by, that nothing would ever compare to that brief but excruciatingly wonderful time she still coveted.

"Not all of them are, Kenzi," she half-whispered. Kenzi's eyes were glassy and tired as they landed on Rhett's, and she gave Rhett a weak smile.

"Was he good to you?" Kenzi whispered, her eyes as glassy as Rhett's felt. Her throat burning now as much as her eyes, Rhett brought her hand to her eyes as they closed, tears splashing onto the cushion beneath her head, a soft sob stifled, and Kenzi hugged her tightly. Barely an inch from her, Kenzi nuzzled her button nose against Rhett's little lovely one and rubbed her arm comfortingly. "Y'know, I reckon that cop fey would be good to you, too."

"The cop," Rhett sniffed, and Kenzi nodded, now clear-eyed.

"There was something there," Kenzi said, gazing at Rhett. "Are you gonna tell me you don't feel something? Otherwise why would you stalk him for a whole _year_ without ever once talking to him? You like looking at him."

"Looking doesn't equate touching," Rhett said hoarsely.

"Yeah, but it's the next natural step," Kenzi pointed out quietly. She licked her lips and looked tentative before saying softly, "I don't think your guy would mind… You can't spend eternity alone."

"Says who?" Rhett murmured dully, sniffing.

"Says me," Kenzi said. "If it's the last thing I do, I am gonna get you laid by that fine-assed fey cop."

"Try and pimp me out, it _will_ be the last thing you ever do," Rhett murmured half-heartedly.

"God, I do not wanna live in a world where two _fine_ girls like us spend their nights drunk together in their den," Kenzi sighed, "even if our den is the coolest place to hang out, and you always buy top-shelf… Think I could borrow your mind-reading skills the next time a dude asks me out?"

"Sure," Rhett murmured, her eyes sliding closed. She hadn't drunk nearly as much as she could, but she was warm and sloshed and Kenzi's presence was slowly soothing away her grief, at least for a little while, and when Rhett woke up the next morning, she had a slight hangover and "Ceremonials" was still playing on repeat.

Leaving the music on, lest turning it off woke Kenzi, who was snoring adorably where she had fallen asleep curled up against Rhett, Rhett touched her tender head as she slipped out of the den toward her bedroom and the luxurious en-suite bathroom. She upturned a tube of Ahava bath-salts into her large bathtub as piping-hot water steamed and gushed into the bath. Setting her little iPod into the portable docking-station she and Kenzi shared, she sank into the bath.

Rhett had been contemplating making a lot of changes recently, all of which Kenzi unconsciously encouraged by trying to break Rhett out of her shell. Like bathing in a Moroccan hamman, Kenzi was the person who lathered and scrubbed away the layers of dead skin; she was slowly battering away the layers Rhett had built in place, slowly peeling her back to the person she had once been, and ached to be again, that happy, enthusiastic, fun girl who loved parties, was the centre of action, lusted after life and took every risk posed to her. But contemplating making vows of change and actually making the conscious decision to do it were different things, and Rhett still hadn't been able to build enough confidence to shed that warm, comfortable, safe cocoon, because she had lived like that once before, and had been broken. Torin would have said nothing was irrevocable, but in the fifteen years since she had been alone, her heart still had not healed. It felt like an aching chasm, sometimes a little smaller, sometimes unbearably heavy, but always present.

Being perpetually lonely and grieving was exhaustingly heavy on her soul.

Climbing out of the tub nearly an hour later, refreshed but still quite sad, Rhett wrapped a towel around herself and padded into her bedroom, with its gorgeous jungle-green voyeuristic Cecily Brown painting, to the Victorian satinwood dressing-table overlooking the park below, and on which she had left her leather journal. Opening the front cover, she fumbled with the inner flap and pulled out a cropped photograph of two people, both beautifully dressed, blissfully happy in each other's arms. Rhett stared at the photograph for a moment, her heart seizing, before tucking it back in place, and turning to get dressed.

Hangovers for Kenzi usually lasted at least three days, helped only by a hefty amount of beignets and café au lait from Café du Monde; Rhett pretended to curse the day she had introduced Kenzi to the fruit-filled fritters, but she loved any excuse to go home, even for a brief time, to soak up the heat and humidity.

One of the benefits of Rhett's ability to trace was that she could travel anywhere in the world in a heartbeat, and that made for her bringing Kenzi a lot of treats from around the world, and taking Kenzi to the treats and visiting beautiful places Kenzi had rarely heard of let alone desired to visit for a long weekend. Whatever they wanted for meals, if Rhett didn't cook, Rhett would trace to get it, and after every adventure of Rhett's, she would bring treats for Kenzi. They made an event of Sin to Win Weekend in Las Vegas, and couture shopping with Rhett's brownie contact in Paris; they had toured the Russian palaces (and vodka distilleries), and had Ladurée picnics in the Versailles gardens on the sly, climbing every step up the Eiffel Tower; they had visited nearly every National Park in America now, and were slowly ticking off every other place they both wanted to visit. The amount of times Rhett went to New Orleans for breakfast foods and coffee, and to other countries for authentic dinners, to different cities so they could sneak into concerts and fashion-shows, she joked that Kenzi should take out a Frequent Flier plan. Tracing to New Orleans, Rhett visited Café du Monde, and traced back.

Transferring the "to-go" café au laits to bone-china coffee cups, Rhett had set out the platter of beignets at the table, and as she sat down with the stack of mail delivered to her apartment in New Orleans and the concierge downstairs, Kenzi appeared, shuffling and groaning, her hair tousled and her eyes shielded by a pair of expensive sunglasses, freebies from a swag-bag they had both been given as guests at an A-list party last week; Rhett would once have adored the glittering parties, but now she only went because she alone could prise Kenzi away from the free stuff and the vodka-bar. Grumbling softly, Kenzi climbed onto a chair and pulled a plate toward her, licking powdered-sugar off her finger as Rhett set a café au lait in front of her with a glass of orange juice.

"This is what happens when you drink 'wine' from the Bargain Bin," Rhett said sagely, and Kenzi groaned.

"You'd think a bartender would know better," Kenzi moaned, sighing as she sipped her coffee. "Oh…my… Is there some secret fey way to cure hangovers?"

"Not that I've ever found," Rhett said honestly. "Although I have heard rumours that siren song can cure headaches."

"Remind me to add one of those to my harem," Kenzi murmured. "Along with a brownie and one of those dwarves who dig up priceless jewels. And that guy who made those ankle-boots you commissioned for me."

"You two would be perfect for each other," Rhett said thoughtfully, sipping her coffee. "What with your mutual foot-fetish."

"Exactly! You know, I wore those boots all last night, and my tootsies don't even hurt," Kenzi said. "They must be magic. I so totally understand why you only wear expensive shoes."

"That, and they look pretty," Rhett said.

"True dat," Kenzi murmured. "My closet is delicious."

"Speaking of your closet," Rhett said softly, leaving the table to disappear into the foyer, where a panel moved to reveal a hidden compartment, and she brought out the decadent couture gift-bag she had brought with her yesterday morning. Handing the bag to Kenzi, she watched, smiling, as Kenzi brought out the gorgeous black satin, button-decorated tuxedo-tails jacket by _Balmain_, with chain details on the left shoulder and a diamante _B_ on the right.

"I was going to give it to you yesterday, but with everything that happened," Rhett shrugged; Kenzi appeared mesmerised by the jacket, her usually wide eyes incredibly large as she slowly lowered her sunglasses. "Maybe it can help heal your hangover."

"Oh…my…" Kenzi moaned, holding the jacket up in front of her. "It's…" She raised a tremulous hand to her mouth.

"You're not going to cry, are you?" Rhett asked warily. Kenzi rushed at her, and Rhett grinned as the coffee was nearly knocked from her hand as Kenzi hugged her fiercely.

"You are the _best_ sugar-momma in the entire _world_!" she exclaimed, squeezing Rhett tightly.

"Thank you," Rhett smiled, as Kenzi released her to recapture the jacket.

"Will you adopt me?" Kenzi implored, gazing at her with wide, adoring eyes.

"There are some other, littler things in the bag, too," Rhett said. Kenzi dived in, producing packets of "Nail Rock" nail-wraps, a faux-snakeskin case for her cell-phone, _Benefit_ _Cosmetics_ "Watt's Up" and creaseless cream shadows, sampler bottles of new _Valentino_, _Vivienne_ _Westwood_ and _Serge_ _Lutens_ perfumes, a new bottle of _Zoya_ nail-polish remover, and the Japanese blotting papers Kenzi had grown to love.

"Y'know, you don't have to get me all this stuff," Kenzi said softly, smiling warmly at Rhett.

"I know I don't," Rhett shrugged. "It's nice to have somebody to treat."

"Well, if it makes you feel good," Kenzi said, "you just keep spending to your heart's content! So, what are the plans for today? A little facial, maybe some shopping for new records, or we could grunge it out at _Carpe Noctem_ tonight."

"Well, since I've been relegated babysitting duty on the prodigal succubus," Rhett sighed, "I suppose we should probably go and check to make sure she's still holed up in her crack-shack."

"Sweet!" Kenzi grinned. "You should see it, Rhett! You'd love it. It's a total fixer-upper. It'd give you something to do."

"I do have something to do," Rhett said, indicating the massive pile of mail she had to get through, some of which were hand-addressed party invitations.

"Jeez, this probably cost more than my new jacket," Kenzi said, going through the deluxe contents of an invitation-box. "Why do people do this, spend so much money on invites? I remember when I used to get excited getting a bag of candy and a yoyo for a party-favour."

"There's an invite for you, too," Rhett said, handing Kenzi the second identical box, and Kenzi's frown instantly disappeared, giddily going through the contents of her own box.

"How many parties are there this month?" Kenzi asked, as Rhett went through the invitations and reminders; she handed Kenzi several magazines, and a Birchbox delivery; it was a good day when the recycled-cardboard boxes arrived for them.

"Way too many," Rhett sighed. "It's getting to that time of year."

"And I _love_ _it_," Kenzi grinned. "The swag I've snagged from the last few parties alone could've bought me a car _and_ put down a deposit on a decent apartment. Y'know, if I'd be allowed to move out of this hell-hole." She caught Rhett's eye and laughed, eyes twinkling, and Rhett smiled. Kenzi loved this penthouse more even than Rhett did, from the small orange gumball machine to the Marilyn Minter skateboards on Kenzi's bedroom wall, to the den filled with DVDs, video-game consoles and the purple-topped pool table, dartboard and their weekly _Guitar_ _Hero_ duels, the bathroom decorated with colour-coded arrangements of nail-polish bottles in clear cabinets, and the retro black ebony dressing-table featuring dazzling lights around the mirror in Kenzi's dressing-room, in which she had her shoes all arranged by colour and heel-height. "So, are all of these shindigs hosted by humans?"

"Some," Rhett said, looking through the invitations for the invitees' names. "Some are fey, though. Not local."

"Okay, but you have to give me advanced-notice where we're going, just so I can plan ahead, make sure I get all our bases covered, y'know, make the most of it," Kenzi said. "You know, I can't believe you didn't go to these parties before I found the invitations and _made you_."

"I'm not much fun at parties anymore," Rhett said quietly, speaking honestly. Once upon a time, she would have _been_ the party, the centre of the excitement, perpetuating everyone around her to be more sparkly, more fun, happier, more exuberant. But she had to admit, having once been worse than Kenzi, she too felt her claws curling with delight at the thought of the swag-bags. Rhett was highly acquisitive, something she wasn't entirely sure was her fault; she was always incurably entranced by sparkling jewels if they caught her by surprise, though she had trained herself to be able to not be distracted by them now.

"That is not true!" Kenzi exclaimed. "You just think you're not. It's like you want to be depressed or something."

"I don't want to be," Rhett sighed.

"Good!" Kenzi exclaimed. "Progress! I will have you laughing your ass off by the end of this year." Rhett smiled, shaking her head, as Kenzi gathered her Balmain jacket, the contents of the gift-bag and the Birchbox delivery, her invitations and magazines, and scuttled upstairs, calling to Rhett that she'd be ready to go and see Bo in a half-hour.

"Shall I confirm our RSVPs to these parties?" Rhett asked, and Kenzi grinned.

"Abso-frickin'-lutely!" she gurgled delightedly. "We gotta go shopping!"

"Later," Rhett replied. "First we've got to lasso the succubus into submission."

"Were you a cowgirl in another life?"

"Yeah, a reverse one," Rhett remarked, and Kenzi laughed as she stumbled up the stairs. "Don't break your neck. There's only so many times I'll heal you before it'll get boring."

"Hey!" Kenzi pouted, as she disappeared from view upstairs. Returning a half-hour later, evidently having tried out some of the goodies and smelling subtly of the new _Vivienne_ _Westwood_ "Bad Alice" perfume, her lips fuchsia-d out with her brand-new lip-gloss tester, lugging an oversize red patent Mulberry "Roxanne" tote. Rhett was sitting at her desk, her laptop in front of her, furiously tapping away at the keypad, frowning subtly as she ran the sinuous triple-chain of her necklace over her lower-lip when she paused to think.

"That bag probably weighs more than you," Rhett said, glancing up from her laptop, and Kenzi groaned as she set the bag on the faux tiger-skin rug on the floor.

"I grabbed some stuff from those party swag-bags, some of the old shit from my place," Kenzi said, yawning. "Thought I'd give it to Bo, help her spruce up her crack-shack—god, did I just say 'spruce'?"

"You're hungover," Rhett said, smiling over at Kenzi.

"What're you doing?" Kenzi curled up on the Eames armchair in front of the desk—put there for that specific reason.

"Emails," Rhett sighed.

"You didn't get another gig?" Kenzi groaned, pouting.

"No, just a few requests, amateur stuff I can do from here," Rhett said.

"How much do you charge for those?" Kenzi asked, and Rhett shot her a saucy grin. "Maybe I should become a mercenary." Rhett's grin widened and she shook her head as she tapped away. Kenzi scuffled around to Rhett, leaning on the arm of her chair, and frowned at the emails Rhett was going through.

"These are all to find people, and stuff," Kenzi said.

"That's usually why people contact me," Rhett shrugged.

"I thought it was to ask you to kill people and steal stuff," Kenzi said, and Rhett chuckled softly. It was the first time she had done that in a long time.

"That too," she said softly, tapping away.

"Penelope Amherst claims her husband is missing," Kenzi said thoughtfully, peering at a sender's title message.

"He's in Venice with the housekeeper's seductress daughter," Rhett said softly.

"And Grayson King claims his wife's 32-carat emerald necklace has been stolen," Kenzi frowned.

"Insurance scam," Rhett said, "Grayson likes fast Succubae and slow ponies, and has been connected to kobolds in the past he's paid to rob him."

"How do you know all this stuff?" Kenzi asked.

"I've got Brenda running errands for me," Rhett said softly, finishing up her emails as soon as she had done a trace on a client's missing daughter's credit-card and cell-phone, sending the up-to-the-minute location to her client's cell-phone. "Keeps her out of trouble."

"That's for sure," Kenzi sighed. "You know she tries to paint her nails when she's bored and you're not here to play with her? I had to call Mumford to ask him to help me get the polish out of the carpet. You know I'm of a delicate constitution and not genetically engineered for housework."

"Did you give Mumf-moodle some honey?"

"Yeah, I found a box of these organic honey straws at the market," Kenzi said, "speaking of which. I got this for you." And she produced a little rectangle wrapped in fuchsia tissue-paper. Rhett dropped her necklace and took the present, surprised. Unwrapping the tissue-paper, she smiled, grinning up at Kenzi. "I mean, it's not much, but I know you love dark chocolate." It was a bar of Green & Black's organic 70% dark chocolate.

"You," Rhett beamed, standing up to wind her arm around Kenzi's neck, hands busy unwrapping the chocolate and snapping a strip off, leaning in to kiss Kenzi's cheek, "I adore." Kenzi fluffed her hair, smiling coyly. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yup," Kenzi smiled, hauling her bag over her shoulder, and as Rhett closed her laptop, she gently touched Kenzi's shoulder, and traced them to the outskirts of the city, near the freeway overpass to the bridge across the water; a red-wood house with boarded-up windows stood near the wharf, water lapping gently at the concrete boatyard, in which rusted parts lay littered about; trucks and cars made their way from factories and industrial parks to the freeway, trailing exhausts on the frigid air.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.<strong>: Bit depressing, I know. Don't know exactly where that came from. Actually, I was listening to "Ceremonials" and thinking of back-stories for Rhett, and the songs I listened to fit the mood for this particular bit of Rhett's life. I loved the episode where the girls have to dress up and go to A-list parties; I figure, with Rhett being independently wealthy and very money-smart, she'd be on that list…also I had fun thinking up stuff I'd put in a swag-bag worth more than Hale's car! Please review!


	7. Grit 04

**A.N.**: Please review!

* * *

><p><strong>Grit<strong>

_04_

* * *

><p>"See what I mean?" Kenzi smiled.<p>

"Lovey, you were not exaggerating," Rhett said thoughtfully, glancing at the ramshackle ante-chamber built into the far end of the building, between the red-panelled house and a faded concrete extension.

"C'mon," Kenzi said, marching to the only accessible point. "Think we should've brought some of those beignets?" Rhett shrugged, nibbling on a square of deliciously strong dark chocolate.

"You ate 'em all," she remarked, and Kenzi grimaced guiltily.

"I did, didn't I?" she said, clearing her throat. "Oh well! Bo-Bo!" She knocked frenetically on the door, letting herself in with the help of a hairpin—her hair streaked today with sapphire extensions, separated and bound in twin bunches, a few clip-in black purple-braid-wound dreads incorporated into them—and Rhett followed her into a dusty, cement-floored foyer, the panelling half-stripped from the walls; the front-door was sturdy at least, and inside it appeared that several squatters before Bo had stripped the wood from the walls in places, the windows partially boarded up, a front-door padlocked shut, while patches of old but pretty wallpaper remained around where some of the plaster had come loose, several oval stained-glass windows making the derelict walls pretty. A crimson sofa, relatively new, was one of the only pieces of furniture, besides a refrigerator cabinet that belonged in a _7/11_, a vending machine and a tired armchair by a porcelain sink. Caged lights usually found in a work-site were strung up around the walls, and fat white candles littered the mantelpiece of a once-handsome fireplace. A chandelier with smashed light-bulbs hung from the ceiling, dusty with cobwebs, and in the corner of the room a wheelbarrow stood on its end.

"Wow," Rhett said softly.

"Yeah, I know," Kenzi grimaced. Rhett glanced around. That wasn't what Rhett had meant at all; growing up on the streets, this was a palace compared to some of the places Rhett had squatted in. Running water, _electricity_, a clean sofa.

"Bo! Yo! Two delicious lovelies here for a little succubus booty-call!" Kenzi called, and heels clattered on the stairs hidden opposite past the sofa as Kenzi set her juicy red bag on the sofa. Bo came into view, dressed, just as she had been yesterday, in dark clothing and black leather, knee-high boots, and her hair in a weird half-updo, her hair raised and braided down the top of her head. She looked hungry. Rhett had met Succubae before—and several Incubi—and she recognised the look in her eyes. When they started to glow blue, Kenzi was in danger.

"You look hungry," Rhett said quietly, flicking her eyes over Bo. "When was the last time you fed?"

"I had breakfast a half-hour ago," Bo said breezily. Rhett gave her a look, and Bo pursed her lips. "The guy from the hotel bar… What're you doing here?"

"Consider us younger, hotter versions of Xzibit, here to Pimp Your Pad," Kenzi said, patting her palms against her bottom and legs as she turned on her heels as she examined the rundown interior.

"All this place needs is a little elbow-grease," Rhett said thoughtfully, examining the flawed walls and the pattern in the plaster over the mantelpiece.

"Whoa, nobody said anything about elbow-grease," Kenzi said, whirling around with her hands raised, palms out, her eyes wide. Rhett rolled her eyes and glanced away. "You know, your external life influences your internal life."

"Oh really?" Rhett smiled, glancing back at Kenzi. "Says who?"

"I read it in _Elle_ _Décor_, your favourite magazine," Kenzi said, glancing around.

"Yeah, d'you really think giving me a little Feng Shui is going to help me get over the fact that I'm part of some ancient race of supernatural beings?" Bo asked, eyebrows raised, her arms crossed over her chest.

Kenzi unzipped her tote and brought out a large fuchsia and purple lava lamp, a set of sick Cube Mugs, a sandwich toaster, a silver voodoo knife block, a mini iPod dock, penis-shaped Jell-O moulds, and a silver case of poker chips and cards. Lugging out an oversized gummy-bear light, Kenzi shrugged, "Can't hurt."

"Well, that's very sweet," Bo laughed, watching Kenzi wrangle with a length of tangled miniature Chinese lanterns, "but—" she paused, her eyes on the far wall by the refrigerator cabinet, "if you were to put a mirror on the opposing wall right there, it would really open up the energy-flow in here. I think I see where you're going with this."

"Good," Rhett said softly. "To the hardware store."

"Whoa, the hardware store, with the grouting and the chainsaws?" Kenzi said, looking appalled. Rhett raised her eyebrows. "Okay, fine. But afterwards we're gonna buy a chocolate fondue-pot and a sex-swing—and a HD TV for over the fireplace, so I can watch Jungle Jeeves."

"Really?" Rhett quirked her eyebrows. "Jungle Jeeves still? It's all about David Attenborough."

"We agreed, I get Jungle Jeeves," Kenzi said.

"And, uh, how do you expect me to pay for all of this stuff?" Bo asked, glancing from Kenzi to Rhett.

"You need to get yourself a rich sugar-fey-ma," Kenzi grinned, whirling around as she smacked a kiss to her fingertips and pressed them to Rhett's cheek, dancing out the door.

"I don't take handouts," Bo said sternly, glancing at Rhett.

"You can pay me back when you can afford it," Rhett shrugged, following Kenzi out the door. Examining the lock on the inner door, then the one on the foyer door, she sighed and glanced down, arm slung over the top of the yellow _Mustang_, raising her eyebrows at Kenzi, who sighed heavily and crawled between the front seats into the back; Rhett smacked her little bottom as she slung herself into the passenger seat, and Bo tucked her hair away from her face as she jammed her key in the ignition. Kenzi chattered good-naturedly in the back, "are we going with a subtle kinda sexy Turkish harem theme, or the full in-your-face Hugh Hefner?"

"How about some locks for the front-door?" Bo laughed. "And maybe a shower-curtain."

"Yeah, okay, we can start with those," Kenzi said. "You gotta treat me right if I'm gonna come stay with you when Rhett's on her missions." Rhett glanced at Bo.

"Consider that due warning," she said softly, and Kenzi reached out to flick Rhett's ear playfully.

"Any advice?" Bo asked, glancing at Rhett before glimpsing Kenzi in the rear-view mirror.

"Stock the freezer with vodka," Rhett said in a mock half-whisper, and Kenzi laughed in the back seat.

"That I can manage," Bo smiled, as she drew into a parking spot outside _Home_ _Depot_. "Okay, I'm not much into home improvement, so you'd better tell me what I actually need."

"Okay, hold on," Rhett said, walking over to the collection of carts, wheeling it back to Kenzi and Bo, flipping down the child's seat. "Kenzi, you come sit up here with Mommy."

"Ha-ha," Kenzi said, rolling her eyes, though she did hop into the cart. Rhett rolled her eyes and wheeled Kenzi toward the enormous store. "Hey!" Kenzi said, sitting cross-legged in the cart and glancing over her shoulder at Bo. "Who owns that crack-shack?"

"Some guy," Bo shrugged.

"You succubused him into letting you stay?" Kenzi grinned.

"Something like that," Bo laughed softly. "Anyway, it's already the closest thing to a home I've had since I ran away at eighteen."

"Only eighteen?" Kenzi laughed. "Dude, I started running away when I was ten. The Zmilfmaestra here was abandoned on the streets when she was practically a baby. Where does a little fey sex-killer grow up, anyway?"

"Farm, small-town Midwest," Bo sighed. "All car shows and church socials."

"God, that would turn me homicidal," Kenzi grumbled. "Hope they had a decent demolition derby."

"And rodeo," Rhett smiled.

"She's got a thing for cowboys," Kenzi mock-whispered behind her hand.

"So what, you'd do a middle-aged guy pretending to be on safari," Rhett said, as they entered the store.

"I'm not the one who dated a guy with _horns_," Kenzi said, rising from the cart to grab a hammer, a Philips screwdriver and a pair of bolt-croppers. Rhett chucked a box of various nails, screws and anchors into her lap with a level, an all-in-one _Leatherman_, a measuring tape and a set of adjustable wrenches.

"No, you're the one who dates guys who have other girlfriends," Rhett said quietly, clearing her throat, and Kenzi turned to pinch her hand. Rhett flicked at her offending fingers and Kenzi pouted.

"What're you doing?" Kenzi pouted, dodging as Rhett playfully slapped at her. "Don't make me call the hotline again."

"I'm shaking," Rhett said idly, as she hooked a handful of electric socket-plates and a multi-pack of bulbs from the shelves, while Kenzi fiddled with a tub of spackling paste and a small trowel.

"Hey, Bo, so, how do you feel about demolishing walls?" Kenzi asked, tugging a sledge-hammer off the display, already half-buried by home-improvement equipment.

"Uh…pretty good, I guess," Bo said, "so long as I can hire somebody to rebuild them for a dime."

"Well, it just so happens you are gazing upon the voluptuous, statuesque goddess of sculpted bourbon lightning that is LaRhette, Drywall Queen of New Orleans," Kenzi said, gesticulating grandly at Rhett.

"You know how to drywall?" Bo said sceptically.

"My scrumptious dumpling is a fey of many marvellous talents," Kenzi said proudly, blurting a half-yell as she rose in the cart, patting Rhett affectionately on the head, and stumbled as Rhett pushed the cart down the next aisle. Bo chuckled as she dumped a plunger, a faux-wood toilet-seat and a toilet-brush on Kenzi, who grimaced.

"Speaking of fey," Rhett said quietly, glancing around, using her spirit sight to source the nearest living beings. "Have you thought any more on your predicament?"

"What, choosing sides?" Bo said, frowning. "No chance, unless they loosen up a bit first. Play by my rules." Rhett smirked. "What?"

"You had no idea what you were until twenty-four hours ago," Rhett said idly, picking up a box of cleaning crystals, adding it to the cart with a packet of marigold gloves, scourers and scrubbing-brushes and a large container of bleach. "Until you understand the rules written by the Blood King and why things are the way they are between the fey, you're not in any position to look down your nose." For a while, Bo was silent, and she sighed as she added an opaque shower-curtain to the cart with a pair of clear lamp-bases.

"Who's the Blood King?" Bo asked.

"Millennia ago, he ended the wars between the fey," Rhett said, "before we could fight each other to extinction. Kenzi, put those back." Kenzi sighed and put the paint samplers back on the shelves from her pockets. "The Blood King ended the wars; he personally wrote the rules that govern fey society to this day. His sacrifice is what allowed our race to continue, in bad peace but peace nonetheless. That sacrifice is commemorated every year, by all of the fey, the one day of the year when the lines between Light and Dark are blurred."

"La Shoshain!" Kenzi exclaimed delightedly. "Man, I thought Mardi Gras was supposed to be the most bitchin' party!"

"Well, we did celebrate La Shoshain in the most notorious fey bar in the French Quarter," Rhett smiled.

"Man, those fey know how to cut loose!" Kenzi smiled dazedly, her eyes going faraway as she remembered the La Shoshain celebration Rhett had taken her to, as part of her education about fey culture.

"You're lucky you survived it," Rhett smiled, and she caught sight of the look Bo was giving the back of Kenzi's head. "What is it?"

"A human knows more about the culture I should've been raised in than I do," Bo sighed, her hands deep in her pockets. "Light and Dark, La Shoshain—I'm like a baby here. There are things I need to know. I need to know about my parents. I'm not choosing until I find out about them."

"What do they have to do with anything?" Rhett asked lazily.

"It's kinda tough, growing up thinking you might have a shot at being prom-queen and find out that you're part of this secret ageless race that feeds on humans. For some reason, my real parents dumped me, and I need to know why." Rhett paused, glancing at Bo, taking in the dark hair, the smudged black eyeliner, the weird braid at the top of her head. She didn't look much like a Midwest farmer's daughter to her, certainly didn't act like one. But she had grown up with her mother helping her do her homework; her dad had taught her how to drive; she'd helped her parents bake cookies, went to church dances in pretty, hand-altered dresses that had belonged to her mother's mother, laughed with her friends and enjoyed rich Christmases and always had a lovely cake and presents on her birthday.

"Everyone has a sob story," Rhett said quietly. Rhett rarely talked about her early life, Kenzi knew only snippets, but Rhett's earliest memories had decidedly _not_ been filled with homemade cookies and hand-knitted clothes. She had been lucky to find a clean, safe place to sleep, had resorted to stealing to clothe herself, learning to pick pockets, snuck into homes to bathe herself and steal leftovers, and that was only after hunger and the changing weather had driven her from wandering the streets.

"Leaving your kid to think that they're a serial-killer without knowing how, or why?" Bo said, staring at her. "That's a sob story?"

"Not every foundling had a good Christian couple adopt them," Rhett said quietly, pushing the cart, and Kenzi, onwards. "Truth is, you are who you are because of the humans who raised you, not your fey birth-parents. They took you to church, taught you to be conscientious, otherwise why would you run every time you killed?"

"When you say 'fey parents'…?"

"Those born of only one fey and a human have no fey abilities," Rhett explained, sliding a boxed coffee-machine off the shelf as Kenzi grabbed a kettle. "Fey genealogy is complicated, but as you're a succubus, your mother could be one too. Or your father is an incubus. One or both of your parents are sex-chi eaters. But there's are other possibilities; Lilin, Yuki-onna, Rusalka…"

"Wait, wait," Bo said, drawing out her cell-phone, and quickly tapped away saving a note. "Sex chi?"

"Most fey feed off humans in some way," Rhett said softly, "some on pain, nightmares, fear, love, luck, that sort of thing… Succubae feed on human life force itself. Stay here with the baby; I'll go and order the drywall. Shvibzig, pick out a microwave. And don't steal anything."

"_Moi_?"

"You," Rhett said, rumpling Kenzi's hair as she handed Kenzi a packet of _Redvines_ she had tucked in her black _Hermés_ Kelly bag. Kenzi gurgled delightedly and tore into the candy, as Rhett walked away. Returning ten minutes later with an invoice for sheet drywall, she found Kenzi with her arm around Bo's waist, still sitting in the cart, but frowning pointedly at Bo.

"Okay, how about we make a deal, 'kay, we don't kill where we shop, okay?" Kenzi said, glancing from Bo to the handsome man looking at door-hinges nearby. Bo sighed, pouting subtly, and hunched her shoulders, pointedly striding past the human male. As Rhett handed Kenzi the invoice, Kenzi tossed a Redvine at the man, who caught it, looking disappointed. "Trust me, buddy, you already got lucky." Leaving the human looking perplexed, Rhett pushed Kenzi in the cart to the checkout counter. Kenzi grabbed several bags of candy off the display before groaning as she hauled herself out of the cart, scattering things across the scarred linoleum floor. "Oops."

"Just, touch what I tell you to touch, monkey," Rhett sighed, as Bo stooped to gather up the things Kenzi had shed from the cart. Kenzi grimaced and helped Bo pick up everything that had fallen, and the cashier gave them weird looks—three well-dressed, fashion-conscious women buying twice their weight in home-improvement supplies—before ringing everything through. Rhett paid, and as Bo struggled to push the cart, on which Kenzi was now perched on the front of, while Rhett went around to the lumber-yard; she picked up the order of drywall, and when the attendant wasn't looking, traced all she could touch to Bo's place.

Bo was utterly perplexed that the drywall had already been delivered by the time they drove home; Kenzi was hyper on _Redvines_, orange soda and _Sour_ _Patch_ _Watermelons_, and Rhett pulled up her sleeves to her elbows before tying her hair up in a casual ponytail, a few curling wisps framing her face and tickling her throat where they trailed against her skin.

"Kenzi, aren't you going to help?" Bo asked, as she and Rhett stooped to pick up the ends of the sofa to move it aside so they could access the walls by the fireplace to start knocking down the patchy internal walls.

"My people, we're not what you'd call _handsy_," Kenzi said, sipping her liqueur-infused coffee. "We hire people to get dirty for us. Why can't we just call in a fey contractor?" Rhett gave her a look, and Kenzi sighed as she climbed off the sofa, wiggling her little bottom as she sashayed over to the kitchen area, where the new coffee-maker had been set on an eight a.m. timer and the sandwich-toaster stood, already christened with grease from grilled-cheese sandwiches, beside a new toaster, tea-kettle and twin-burner camping stove, Kenzi's stackable coffee mugs set up in a pyramid with jars of _Nutella_ and grape _Goober_, bottles of liqueur and coffee syrups, a half-eaten packet of grated cheese, crinkly plastic packages of Hostess Sno-Balls, a box of Mallomars, boxes of Cheez-Its and bags of Fritos, tins of jalapeno-cheese dip, packets of microwave butter-popcorn, an eighteen-count pack of sodas, _Gatorades_ and bottled water, and several loaves of bread. "_Or_, I can make coffee."

"And here all I thought you could make was vodka shots," Rhett said, glancing over at Kenzi, who laughed, shaking her head as she filled the coffee-pot.

"So, do you do this sort of thing a lot?" Bo asked, grunting, as they demolished internal wall after wall, tearing down the water-damaged, crumbling drywall, hands encased in gloves, Rhett not bothering with goggles.

"Fairly often," Rhett said, frowning as she tore another chunk of drywall from the wooden frame, which was riddled with nails and screws.

"Can't really see you doing Homes for Humanity," Bo grunted.

"Why do you say that?"

"Your _Hermés_ bag is legit," Bo said, grunting. "You live in that gorgeous penthouse."

"I didn't start there," Rhett said quietly. "This building is a palace compared to places I squatted in N'awlins… Now that I have money, I buy up buildings in shoddy neighbourhoods, hire locals to help rebuild them, put in playgrounds, community centres."

"Your penthouse building didn't look so shitty," Bo said.

"It's one of my more high-profile locations. Ten months ago it was half-finished," Rhett sighed. "The old owner went bankrupt nearly five years ago, the investors pulled out before they could lose any more money."

"You're gonna tell me you finished building it yourself?" Bo said sceptically.

"No, I boosted the local economy a little by hiring local companies to do it," Rhett said, shrugging.

"Now all the city's young money crowd want to live in the building," Kenzi said happily. "They call it a mini Fifth Avenue. It helps going to all those fancy parties, doesn't it, Rhett, charming those guys who stare at your rack into investing."

"Kenzi, do you have the stud-finder over there?" Rhett asked, as Bo used the wheelbarrow from the corner of the room to remove the debris from the house.

"Oh, Rhett, I think you'll find I _am_ the stud finder," Kenzi said, sauntering over with a steaming mug of coffee and a pink sprinkle-strewn doughnut.

"You see this hammer in my hand?" Rhett said, blinking.

"Yeah, we'll find the stud-finder," Kenzi murmured, glancing around quickly.

"And the level," Rhett said.

"What does it look like?"

"Don't you know what a level is?" Bo asked, laughing.

"Yeah, it's something that you advance to in a video game," Kenzi shrugged.

"That's funny. The tool doesn't know about tools," Rhett said, pressing her fingertip to Kenzi's nose, as Kenzi handed her the stud-finder. Bo scooped the level off the floor, handing it to Rhett, taking the coffee-cup from Kenzi to take a sip.

Kenzi was more of a hindrance than a help when it came to home-improvement; though she was an expert barista and DJ, keeping them in coffee and fresh playlists every time the music choice got old.

"Okay, Kenzi wasn't joking about your work-ethic," Bo panted, three hours later; Kenzi had been made happy let loose with the handheld electric sander on the window- and doorframes after using the stud-finder to get rid of any nails left behind by the shoddy boarding-up job; they—Rhett mostly, having done it so many times it was easiest to let her get on with it—had put the drywall up, the tape and mud drying in the jointures, having used a keyhole saw to accommodate for the stained-glass windows in the living-area. The place already looked different, Bo going through paint swatch samples she had picked out from Home Depot, and Rhett sat on the sofa wondering who owned the property, taking a brief break while the mud dried over the drywall seams, to share a bag of Frito's with bean dip, salsa and jalapeno-cheese, while Kenzi made them all margaritas.

When they had finished snacking, a little bit giggly because Kenzi's version of a margarita was more Cuervo than lime, Rhett had Bo and Kenzi priming the drywall while she went upstairs to start on the two bedrooms, one of which had large, lovely French doors into a large bathroom that would have been Buckingham Palace compared to some Rhett had used in the past, but seriously needed de-tiling. Kenzi had fun with that, while Rhett traced to get her laptop, setting up on the sofa while Bo continued to paint and Kenzi's cackles were heard upstairs every time something crashed and clattered to the floor, shaking dust from the ceiling.

"What're you doing?" Bo asked.

"Searching who owns this property," Rhett said, tapping away idly.

"You can find that on the internet?"

"_I_ can," Rhett said, shrugging, tapping away.

"What are you, some kind of drywall-computer-expert-socialite?" Bo chuckled.

"Something like that," Rhett said, "except without the socialite part."

"I thought Kenzi said you go to a lot of A-list parties," Bo said.

"Kenzi likes the swag-bags," Rhett shrugged. "And, yes, they are useful for finding investors in building projects."

"So, why are you searching for the guy who owns this place?" Bo asked.

"Well, since you're unaffiliated, you won't be given a profession by either the Light or the Dark to keep you solvent," Rhett said, "and you don't exactly last long at regular jobs, you won't be paying rent for a nice place in the city. If you're going to stay here, I might as well ensure you won't be evicted as squatting."

"So what, you're just gonna buy this shack?" Bo asked. Rhett shrugged.

"I've done more for less," she said softly. Rhett had a habit of using her money on other people without their knowing it. "Besides, even if you don't stay here, it's always good to have a safe-house." Bo nodded her agreement, seeing the sense in the plan, but she didn't look like she liked the idea of being indebted to Rhett. "It's just money," Rhett said, glancing at Bo, shrugging.

"It's a lot of money," Bo frowned.

"I have a lot of money," Rhett shrugged. Her shoulders slumped and she sighed. "And I was never happier than when I was homeless." She used to live in a stolen VW Camper in an abandoned air-strip near the muggy bayou, where she could watch the lightning fork the sky, where she could host raves that college kids and Mardi Gras celebrators would pay $20 just to get in the gate, partying on and among the remnants of cars used in amateur demolition derbies strewn with graffiti.

"Well, thank you," Bo said, glancing at Rhett. She could tell it wasn't normal for Bo to have close contact with anyone but the lovers she left dead in her bed, and spending two consecutive days with Rhett and Kenzi was a very odd experience for her. "You and Kenzi…you two are so sweet to adopt me."

"Don't thank me yet," Rhett said, as the sound of Kenzi injuring herself above echoed down the stairwell, wailing in pain. Kenzi clattered into view, her hand held up in front of her as if headed for surgery, her eyes closed as she grimaced and held her finger to Rhett, who saw the blood. The Necromancer in her could give and take death and life, could heal both herself and others, to preserve the balance. She reached for Kenzi's hand, and Kenzi curled up over the back of the sofa, Rhett moving her laptop out of the way before Kenzi tumbled onto the sofa, pouting. Rhett raised the "wound" to her lips, gently kissing the injury, and as she released Kenzi's hand, the skin on Kenzi's finger was revealed, fresh and soft, baby-new, the only evidence of injury a remnant of blood drying on her skin.

"You're such a dandy, Kenzi," Rhett sighed, shaking her head, as Kenzi pulled a glass tumbler full of margarita toward her.

"You're a dandy, woman!" Kenzi retorted, pouting. "I'm not gonna be able to move my arms tomorrow."

"Little hard labour will do you good," Rhett said, tapping away at her laptop.

"So will food," Kenzi grumbled.

"I have to say, that grilled cheese you made me earlier was the best I've had in years," Bo said, and Kenzi grinned.

"I mean, seriously, is there anything better than melty, melty cheese," Kenzi sighed, lying sprawled on her back on the sofa, one foot digging between the cushions beneath Rhett's bottom, the other hooked over the back of the sofa, her head lolling off the sofa cushion.

"Whisky," Rhett murmured, and Kenzi laughed. Rhett glanced at Bo, whose eyes were soft and warm, watching Kenzi lolling about. "Why don't _you_," she said, handing Kenzi Bo's car-keys, "go and pick us up some dinner."

"Pizza? Thai?"

"Moroccan," Rhett said thoughtfully, and Kenzi hummed hungrily. "After we've eaten, we can go and have a drink at the Dal Riata."

"Why the Dal?" Kenzi asked.

"Because Bo needs to feed," Rhett said, tapping away at her laptop.

"What?" Bo glanced at Rhett.

"Fey won't be as susceptible to your powers as humans. They'll be able to stop you," Rhett said. "No waking up beside dead bodies."

"Well, that does sound good," Bo said.

"And the fey have far stronger life forces," Rhett added, "so you won't need to feed as often."

Kenzi disappeared for forty minutes, while Rhett and Bo removed the tile debris from the bathroom, and Rhett secured the new toilet-seat while cleaning crystals dissolved the disgusting stuff from the bathtub, sink and toilet-bowl, and Bo hung the shower-curtain. A Moroccan feast was spread out on the counter set up in the kitchen area, the matching red faux-leather stools drawn out to sit on while they shared two bottles of red wine, and Rhett traced Kenzi back to their penthouse so they could shower and freshen up, getting ready to go for a drink; Bo didn't like tracing, but the alternative was driving to the Dal and not being able to drink.

The Dal Riata was thriving, music playing loudly to the amusement of the dancers, fey queuing up to use the pool-table and play darts, tables thronging with groups of fey all laughing and chatting, sometimes in foreign accents, some in languages unrecognisable to Bo and Kenzi, but all having a good time; the bar was crowded, but being taller than the average female Rhett could see over the tops of the heads of other patrons, catching Trick's attention with a smile and subtle wave. Kenzi was incorrigible when it came to liquor, and as the barstools were abandoned, fey coupling off and disappearing, or moving on to play darts, pool or lounge on the sofas, Trick had to suffer Kenzi constantly holding her shot-glass out for a refill, pouting adorably and begging for more beverage.

"Okay, I'd hoped to get lucky tonight," Bo sighed, "not get glared at by everybody who meets my eye."

"The politics of remaining neutral are complicated," Rhett said softly.

"Well, I'll say it; the sexual energy in this room is off the charts," Bo said, sipping her beer and staring around the room.

"You gonna be okay?" Kenzi asked, as Bo's eyes flashed blue and back to brown, licking her lips. "You're not gonna start an orgy are you? I am _so_ not wearing the right underwear for that."

"Well, there are a few nymphs in the room," Rhett said, glancing around and taking inventory of the patrons. "And, wow, twin Gemini. They're always good for stirring up sexual energy. Kenzi, stay away from the handsome Irishman in the leather jacket."

"Why?" Kenzi murmured, gazing at the dark-haired, handsome Irishman who was laughing loudly over his beer while he chatted with…Dyson and Hale.

"He's a Gancanagh," Rhett said softly. "Their skin produces a toxin that makes human women literally addicted to him. They usually die from withdrawal, pining for his love."

"Puts nicotine in perspective," Kenzi said, raising her eyebrows. Bo sighed, after breaking eye-contact with a shifter practically undressing her with his eyes, walking out with his date.

"I need to get the Light fey doctor's number," Bo moaned, rubbing her face tiredly. "Lauren. She said she could treat me."

"Cure your insatiable honey-pot?" Kenzi said, tossing back another shot of demon-brew.

"Kenzi, that stuff is potent and delayed-effect. Go easy," Rhett warned idly, knocking back her own shot of demon-brew, turning to Bo. "Bo, you're a perfect biological specimen of your kind; there's nothing wrong with you."

"There's only one problem. I end up killing anyone I let close to me," Bo sighed.

"Hate it when that happens," Kenzi sighed, eyebrows raised.

"Lauren said there's something she could give me, to take the edge off my lethal libido," Bo said.

"Yeah, or you could put in a little bit of effort and learn to control yourself," Rhett said, as Dyson migrated to the bar to get another round.

"I'm looking for a more long-term solution," Bo sighed.

"And going to the Light fey doctor for hormone shots is going to give you that? I thought you didn't want to get involved in fey politics?" Rhett said disapprovingly. "That's why you stayed unaffiliated. Hell of a way to stay neutral, accepting help from the Light fey scientist."

"Look, I don't wanna owe either team, but if Lauren can take the edge off, that means fewer dead bodies, which means the Light and the Dark stay happy," Bo said.

"At a certain point, it isn't about losing control when you feed, it's about taking it. As soon as you stop fighting your nature, you'll find a lot of opportunities are opened up to you, and it won't be so difficult to control your hunger," Rhett said, sipping her bourbon. "Until then—go for him." She nodded at the tall, muscular guy at the other end of the bar.

"Him?" Bo raised her eyebrows, her eyes glowing.

"He's an ogre," Rhett said, and Kenzi's eyebrows now rose. "Strong as they come. More than capable of stopping you." Bo glanced from Rhett, to the ogre, and back, and nibbling her lower-lip, she seemed to come to a decision. Standing, she straightened up her top, threw her shoulders back, and Kenzi slapped her bottom as she stalked past, approaching the ogre, who turned to her with an easy grin.

"Pimping out the succubus?" Rhett jumped subtly, turning on her barstool to come face-to-face with Dyson, who was smiling softly; he looked happier, his eyes warm.

"Charge for her charging her battery on you?" Kenzi said thoughtfully.

"There's an idea," Rhett said, and Kenzi laughed. Dyson chuckled deeply, and Rhett noted his lovely smile. Sidling onto the barstool Bo had just vacated, Dyson grinned at Trick as he handed over a pint. "Succubae usually do operate as courtesans. Or wives."

"How are things going?" Dyson asked, sipping his beer.

"No incidents so far," Rhett said softly.

"None?"

"I brought Bo here to feed," Rhett said, glancing at Bo and the ogre, who were laughing and flirting together. "She wants to go to the Ashe's doctor for some hormone treatments."

"That's asking a lot," Dyson said softly.

"I said Bo wants to," Rhett said, glancing at Dyson. "I didn't say it was a good idea. She needs to learn how to control herself."

"Did you?" Dyson asked. Rhett glanced into Dyson's eyes, hearing more than one meaning in the simple question.

"Did I learn how to control myself?" Rhett asked, smiling subtly, not breaking eye-contact. "Only when I'm being on my very _best_ behaviour."

"Rhett, I thought you told me your human was house-broken?" Trick said, as he took the vodka bottle away from Kenzi, who was listing to the side on her stool.

"I lied," Rhett said softly. She whistled playfully at Kenzi, patting her thigh. "Come here, girl! C'mere!" Kenzi smiled sleepily, her eyelashes fluttering, as she wound her arms around Rhett's waist, resting her head on Rhett's shoulder.

"Bo's gone," she murmured, and Rhett glanced down the bar to where Bo and the ogre had been flirting. The rest of the night was warm, happy, teasing; playing darts, Kenzi kept score as she and Hale chatted and laughed, playing pool nearby, and as Dyson landed a bulls-eye, Rhett canted her head to one side, sipped her bourbon, squinted and threw her dart; it split Dyson's as it landed with a decisive thud into the cork.

"Rhett, how do you do that?" Kenzi asked, a little amazed.

"I aim for the middle," Rhett said, pointing.

"Pay up," Kenzi said, holding her palm out as she smiled at Dyson, who sighed and handed over a twenty to cover their bet. "Told you! Rhett always wins."

"Not always," Rhett said quietly, sipping her bourbon, raising her eyebrows as Dyson captured the tumbler and took a sip, humming with delight as his eyes slid closed. "Did nobody ever warn you against taking a New Orleanian's bourbon?"

"Didn't anybody ever tell _you_ not to flaunt top-shelf scotch in front of a Scotsman?" Dyson asked, smiling back at her as he sipped her bourbon again.

"Oh, you're fixin' for a hiding," Rhett said, watching the way his lips pursed, how warm his eyes were.

"Oh, really?" he smirked tauntingly.

"Uh, Rhett?" Hale said uneasily, and Rhett broke eye-contact with Dyson regretfully, glancing at Hale. "Your human's passed out." He pointed to Kenzi, curled up in a ball on the floor, mouth open and snoring adorably.

"I told her the demon-brew is delayed-impact," Rhett sighed. "Well…just leave her there." Rhett took her tumbler back from Dyson, and Hale laughed as he tried to wake Kenzi. Finishing the last of her drink, Rhett sighed, plucking at the knees of her jeans before squatting down to link one arm under Kenzi's back, the other under her knees, and lifted her easily off the ground.

"Time to put the baby to bed," she said, glancing at Dyson with a warm smile.

"Skipping out on your tab?" Dyson asked warningly.

"I'll be back," Rhett said, raising her eyebrows. With that, she traced away, settling Kenzi on her own bed, deftly unlacing her killer boots, unclipping her hair-extensions and doing her best to wipe the makeup from her face without waking her. Tucking the duvet over her, setting a glass of orange juice and a little travel bottle of Pepto Bismol on the bedside cabinet, Rhett dimmed the bedroom lights and traced back to the bar. The bar-tab was something to pay; Dyson approached her at the bar as she was handing over several bills to Trick.

"Well, that is a neat trick," Dyson said softly, touching her waist as he had done during Bo's test; his hand was heavy and comfortable there, his warmth making her realise her own chill as it thawed her skin.

"It comes in handy," Rhett said, smiling at the understatement.

"You'll have to tell me how you do it," Dyson said, pushing an empty glass across the bar, sighing as he fumbled in his back jeans pocket for his wallet. Frowning, he searched his other pockets, the inside of his leather waistcoat, before looking utterly perplexed.

"Uh…I think I may know where your wallet is," Rhett said, casting Dyson a sidelong look, and Dyson paused. Realisation illuminated his features, and he sagged against the bar, shaking his head.

"Kenzi."

"Kenzi," Rhett nodded. Dyson glanced at her. "I'll get it back for you, don't worry."

"Mm," Dyson chuckled softly.

"She's terrible!" Rhett smiled fondly.

"I have to say, odd choice of friend for a fey adventuress and assassin," Dyson said thoughtfully.

"Not so strange," Rhett said, perching on the stool next to Dyson's.

"Oh no?"

"Once upon a time, I wasn't so very different from Kenzi," Rhett smiled, gazing at Dyson. She raised her eyebrows. "Fact is, I was probably worse." Dyson's smile was rich and warm, burning with intensity.

"You know what, I can see that," he said, canting his head to one side. "It's an interesting pendant Kenzi wears." Rhett glanced at Dyson, sipping one last shot of demon-brew. "You gave it to her?"

"I won it during my first Hie," Rhett said, shrugging nonchalantly. "It's nice to finally have someone to bestow it on."

"Does she know what it means?" Dyson asked, his tone implying he did.

"Some," Rhett said, glancing at Dyson again. The pendant did a lot of things; protected Kenzi as Rhett's, keeping her safe from the interference of other fey in places such as this, and neutralised anti-human deflective enchantments that kept humans from specific areas of the world. The last and most powerful feature of the pendant, Rhett had kept secret from Kenzi; she hadn't wanted to worry her. "She doesn't need to know the specifics."

"Oh, really?" Dyson smiled. "That pendant will protect her from death."

"From supernatural death," Rhett corrected, sipping her demon-brew. "The pendant won't work against accident or disease. But Kenzi is safe from death by fey hands, which is all that matters. She doesn't need to know how truly priceless that talisman is."

"And what you did to come into possession of it," Dyson said, arching an eyebrow.

"Kenzi knows about the Hie," Rhett shrugged, licking her lips subtly. She sighed softly. "I sent her postcards from every location during last year's competition… She wanted to be my partner." Dyson laughed.

"A human pairing up for the most deadly fey competition?" he chuckled, his eyes glittering.

"She's got her heart in the right place," Rhett said, sipping her demon-brew. "She's a lot stronger than she looks."

"I hope so," Dyson said, gazing at Rhett. Rhett sighed. The bar had long since begun to empty, now a little quieter, cooler now that fewer bodies were packed inside. Trick and his waitresses were making the rounds, picking up empty glasses and wiping remnants of dishes of nuts and pretzels from tables. So warm and comfortable, the demon-brew and bourbon making her far more talkative with strangers—though she felt she knew Dyson so well she could write a manual on the behavioural habits of lone wolf-shifters—it was a little while before Dyson had to hide a yawn and checked his watch, sighing heavily that he had to be up early in the morning and really shouldn't have stayed out so long.

Rhett traced back to her penthouse after following Bo's spirit trail—she saw enough at the end of the trail to know the ogre was still alive and fucking—and yawned as she climbed upstairs to bed, after checking on Kenzi and rifling through the contents of her bag and jacket pockets for the several wallets and a detective's badge and credentials.

Rhett smiled, gathering up Dyson's belongings, and walked to her room, where her hidden safe contained several things, not least a very old police badge she herself had stolen years ago in the Vieux Carré precinct. Along with the bona fide real police badge, there were stacks of fake I.D. cards and credentials for FBI, Homeland Security, State Troopers, SWAT agent, psychiatric nurse/orderly, alarm company installer, security, electrician, CDC official, and in a footlocker in one of her storage units, there were costumes that ran the gamut from prison jumpsuit to female vicar to rodeo cowgirl, gym-teacher and a fire-fighter suit, and nearly everything in between. Half of them had been used for early cons; the other half were reserved for use during pro bono investigations that led into human territory.

She put the badge and credentials in the safe and climbed into bed, tired and happy from manual labour, buzzing from the bourbon and demon-brew, and her thoughts lingered on Dyson's rare but lovely smile as she drifted into sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.<strong>: Please review! Also, if anyone's interested in _Gossip Girl_ (classic, first-season GG) I'm rewriting a story of mine, but have created poll on my profile page for readers to help pick the protagonist's name. Also, will probably add possible names of male romantic-interests.


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